


Acceptable Terms- Drifting

by pl2363



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Blindfolds, Boys Kissing, Dorks in Love, Edgeplay, F/M, Falling In Love, Fisting, Gender Roles, Japanese Rope Bondage, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostitution, Public Sex, Rope Bondage, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Shibari, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Threesome - M/M/M, Unrequited Love, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, gaping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-12-25 14:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18263006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pl2363/pseuds/pl2363
Summary: This is set after the original Acceptable Terms fic, but with Drift as the central mech. Mostly PWP, but a thread of plot regarding falling in love. There are a lot of kinks explored with Drift, mostly not violent, but may trigger, so please read all tags.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> I have nearly written the entire fic already. This is a Dratchet fic, if you don't like this pairing please do not read and certainly don't comment about your preferences. It is what it is, and I will be posting over the coming days. Encouraging comments are welcome, of course. If you are writing a comment that has a "i like this BUT" in it, please do not leave it. Thanks!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift finds himself in a better situation.

Prelude: Starting Over

The air was stale from being recycled through the lower levels of the gentlemech’s club. The heavy scent of oil, spilt high grade energon, and fluids permeated the air. Down a long corridor were rooms on each side with glass doors. 

Zetca needed a new asset for his pleasure mech business. It was proving hard to find a mech that he felt could be flexible enough to cater to differing types of clientele he worked with. He had an arrangement with the owner of the club and slowly went from glass door to glass door to observe the mechs in his stable at work.

Each one seemed talented one way or another, the mechs who’d rented the hour were getting their money’s worth. He paused at one door, watching a smaller mech lay over one paying guest. Both guests in the room then penetrated his valve at the same time. Zetca watched the face of the pleasure mech, who showed no discomfort as he was pounded quite hard. 

“Delta has potential.” 

Zetca turned to see the owner just behind him. “He does, but I’m not sure he’s right.”

A smile curved the corner of the owner’s lips. “I have one I think might be perfect. He’s just down there.” The owner pointed two doors down, second from the end. 

Zetca wandered to the door and stopped to peer in. A lovely mech was inside, on his knees doing a very good job of sucking off a massive triple changer. The large mech on the couch was clearly in heaven, optics blissed as he lightly pet the helm of the beautiful mech. 

“He’s pretty. But why is he perfect for my business?” Zetca asked. 

The triple changer sat forward, grabbed the mech by his helm fins and used them like handles to force him to go faster. The pleasure mech relaxed and let him without so much as a tense cable in his frame in protest to hard use. 

“He’s a perfect size, he’s beautiful, and he’s completely broken in. He’ll do anything asked of him, no matter how strange. I watched him lick the pedes of one customer without hesitation when he was asked. Obedient and very skilled,” the owner explained.

The triple changer pulled the mech off his spike and overloaded across his face. He then forced the pleasure mech to his feet and bent him forward before slamming his spike into his valve. He then started thrust hard, head falling back as he clearly enjoyed himself. 

“You just described all your best pleasure mechs. Why is this one different?” Zetca asked. 

“This triple changer had a specific ask. He wanted to have one that would overload. Watch,” the owner said. 

The pleasure mech’s mouth fell open as he clearly began to moan, though the soundproofing of the booth made that impossible to hear. The triple changer looked pleased, increasing his pace and hugging the smaller mech against his chest as he thrust at an upward angle. The white and dark grey mech’s body visibly trembled and he suddenly stiffened as his mouth opened wide. The triple changer thrust even faster then finished inside the still trembling pleasure mech.  

“He actually overloads? It’s not a trick add on to his hardware package?” Zetca asked. 

“Absolutely not. He’s not had mods done to his array yet. He came in here a few weeks ago begging to have a job. I tested him myself and was surprised when he actually overloaded,” the owner replied.

Zetca was even more intrigued but he didn’t want the owner to see his eagerness. 

The triple changer sat back down on the couch, with the pleasure mech still impaled on his spike and cuddled the mech. The pleasure mech didn’t seem to mind, clearly enjoying his post overload snuggle. 

“How many times can he overload?” Zetca asked. 

“As many times as a customer asks for. And he will take between five to ten customers on any given day. This is number three for today.” The owner smirked, optics sharply focused on Zetca. 

Zetca wanted this one. He was in fact perfect for his type of business. “His name?” 

“Drift.”

“How much?” Zetca asked without looking at the owner. He watched as the triple changer had Drift turn in his lap and begin to ride his spike. 

“He’s a rare find. I couldn’t let him go for less than ten thousand,” the owner replied. 

“I’ll give you seven,” Zetca replied, keeping in mind he’d need to pay to have Drift properly modded. 

“Nine, and that’s as low as I’ll go,” the owner replied. 

Zetca looked at the owner. “I’ll need to pay for his upgrades, so eight is as high as I’ll go.”

The owner’s lip lifted into a slight smirk as he smiled darkly at Zetca. “Not my problem. Nine, or I’ll just keep him on here until he’s a used up husk.”

Zetca didn’t waver in his gaze. “Eight thousand five hundred.” 

“Sold. His contract is yours,” the owner replied. 

…

This was a far cry from the dank club. Drift could hardly believe how plush and soft the chair he was sitting in felt. 

In a chair next to him sat his new boss, Zetca. “I trust the upgrades are all set?”

Drift nodded. “Yeah, everything is all new and working fine.”  

“As you’re aware, I run this pleasure mech for hire agency. These are the things I expect of you as a agent working here.” Zetca handed Drift a datapad.

Drift carefully read the list:

  1. Always be clean and waxed properly before every appointment.
  2. Always be on time to each meeting.
  3. No harm is acceptable between client and agent, so leave any violent situation immediately and alert management right away.
  4. No drugs of any kind or high grade maybe consumed while working.
  5. The right to terminate this contract at any time is at the discretion of the owner, Zetca.



“Do you agree to the terms?” Zetca asked after a moment.

Drift nodded again, placing his thumb in the signature section to mark the document and hand it back to Zetca.

“You’ve been pretty quiet,” Zetca said as he saved the datafile. “Do you have any questions so far?”

“The club owner said I’d get paid a sign-on fee,” Drift replied. 

Zetca nodded. He opened a container on the nearby table, and took out 8,500 credits. He handed the chit cards to him. “That's what I paid to release you from your contract with that club owner aft. I don’t own you. I simply want you to work for me. I take a percentage of your earnings, the rest is yours.”

Drift was a bit surprised but he wasn’t going to turn down credits. He subspaced them. 

“Now, since you are new, I want to try you out with three very different types of clients this week.” Zetca picked up a different datapad from the table. “There are three profiles on there. Read them. Study them. Two are regulars, one is not.”

Turning on the datapad, Drift read through each one carefully. 

“Now, each time you meet up with a client you have to state the rules of engagement. One, no harm can come to you. Two, if either party is uncomfortable the encounter ends. Three, no mouth on mouth kissing,” Zetca explained.

“Why no mouth kissing?” Drift asked.

“Well, that leads me to my next point. You’re there for the client’s pleasure, nothing more. Emotional attachments cause messy situations. If you kiss them, that increases the chances that they’ll become attached.” Zetca hardened his gaze and looked at Drift with a very serious expression. “If any mech shows signs of attachment, you need to notify me right away.”

Drift nodded. “So that’s what this note on the noble mech’s file refers to? He was attached to his last pleasure mech?”

“Yes. That’s why I’ve switched him to you.” Zetca was pleased that Drift seemed to catching on quickly.

“The second one is a regular, too? Is this that famous mech on the posters around Iacon?” Drift asked. 

“The one and the same,” Zetca confirmed. 

“Says multiple partner on his file. What does that mean?” Drift asked. 

“He’ll often want to share the mech I send with himself and one of his buddies,” Zetca explained. “Are you comfortable with two mechs at once?”

“That’s no problem,” Drift replied. “What does the ‘v’ stand for on the last profile?” 

“Virgin. I had him checked out thoroughly. He’s clean as it comes. Just wants to experience interfacing for the first time,” Zetca said with a small shrug. 

Drift nodded. 

“Alright. Well, your first appointment is tomorrow. Follow the rules and let’s make some credits, hm?” Zetca said with a smile.

“That’s why I’m here,” Drift replied. 

…

For the first time in his life, Drift had credits to spare. What his new boss and former boss didn’t know, was that he was homeless. After nearly dying in the Dead End from frying his processor on boosters, a kind medic had given him a second chance. One that he didn’t want to screw up. 

He strolled into a small hotel a few blocks away and paid for a room for the week. He was happy to see he had credits leftover. 

After taking the lift upstairs, and walking down the corridor, he unlocked the room with the electronic key and slipped inside. It was spacious. And had a wash rack, too. He flopped front first on the large berth and happily sighed. “No more recharging in alleys.” 

Once he’d saved enough credits, he planned on getting a real apartment but this would definitely do in the meantime. 

He was finally turning his life around. 


	2. Tracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift's first client at his new job.

 

After an early start, Drift was clean, plating glowing from a deep wax. He felt good and walked to a very nice hotel in the down city area of Iacon. 

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’ll need to ask you to leave,” said a concierge the moment he spotted Drift enter the lobby. 

“Why?” Drift asked. 

“You are clearly not of noble descent,” the mech replied. 

“Oh, I’m not. But I’m here to see a guest. His name is Tracks. Could you please let him know I’m here?” Drift replied. 

The concierge instantly looked annoyed. “Tracks. Of course. One moment.” 

Drift waited patiently, looking around the lobby at the over the top decor. Rebellious nobles would occasionally come to the gutters to be sucked off by mechs like Drift. They enjoyed subjugating the poorest mechs. To Drift, credits were credits. As long as he was paid, he’d do whatever was asked of him. 

The concierge returned and with a deep frown gestured for Drift to follow him. “This way. I will escort you to his suite.”

They walked through the lobby to the lift entrances. The doors marked Northern Tower opened and he was led inside. They rode to the top level in uncomfortable silence. Drift honestly enjoyed how uncomfortable he was making this mech, but he didn’t let it show. Stepping off, the concierge took Drift to the door at the end of the corridor and pressed the buzzer. 

The door opened, and another servant of some kind looked right past the concierge to Drift. “You must be Drift. Please come in.” 

Drift shot the concierge a grin as he walked past him into the opulent suite. The servant shut the door without saying a word to the rude concierge. 

“You are right on time. Tracks is ready for you just up those stairs.” The servant picked up a folded cloth and unfurled it. “I know this might be odd, but it’s his request to have you covered when you arrive up there.”

Drift nodded amicably, and turned to let the servant slip a loose robe on him. The servant moved to the front to tie the waist, and smiled. “You are lovely. He will definitely like you,” 

“Is there anything I should know?” Drift asked. 

The servant’s smile widened. “Stroke his ego a bit and he’ll be very good to you in return,” he said in a hushed voice. 

“Thanks,” Drift replied with a nod. 

He ascended the stairs, and at the top was surprised to see a large pool of water at the base of a very luxurious berth covered in pillows and blankets. 

“Hello. You must be Drift,” said a disembodied voice. From behind a half wall beside the berth Tracks emerged. He had a cloth wrapped around his hips, covering his array area and upper legs. 

“I am. And you’re Tracks,” Drift replied. 

“I am.” Tracks sauntered closer and then came to a stop in front of Drift. “I wasn’t sure Zetca could find me someone I’d like as much as Blaze, but so far so good.” He reached up, trailing his fingers over Drift’s helm fin which caused him to shiver a tiny bit. 

“I'm here to please you,” Drift replied. 

Tracks focused sharply on Drift. “I’m not looking for a hole to simply use. That won’t please me.”

“Of course not,” Drift replied, trying to find his bearings. 

“You’re new, aren’t you?” Tracks said after a moment. He let his hand trail over Drift’s frame, feeling him through the thin robe. “Aren’t you supposed to recite the rules?”

Drift had almost forgotten. “Oh, yeah. First rule, no harm can come to me.”

Tracks smiled. “Absolutely not.”

“Second rule, if either of us are uncomfortable we end the encounter.”

Tracks nodded. 

“And third, no kissing on the mouth,” Drift finished. 

“That last rule is the one I don’t like, but I will abide it.” Tracks untied his cloth from his hips and let it fall to the floor. He then stepped down into the pool of water and sank until it was up to his neck. 

Drift stood where he’d been left, waiting for some cue as to what Tracks was interested in doing. 

“Open your robe, let me see your frame,” Tracks said, coming to the edge and peering up at Drift. 

Doing as he was asked, he let it fall open in the front. 

Tracks drank in the view for a long moment. “Now touch your frame. Show me every sensitive spot.” 

A voyeur. Drift could handle this. Where the robe was parted, he ran his hands over his middle and then up his chest slowly. He dimmed his optics as he touched along the edge of his chest plate, following the line slowly. His hands then made their way lower and he ran each forefinger along the edge of his array cover. 

“Open,” Tracks ordered. 

Drift’s cover opened, exposing his newly modded array. He’d chosen a cloud design for his spike and his valve had been given a new lining among other things. “May I touch myself?” Drift asked.

Tracks looked pleased. “Please do,” he encouraged. 

Drift lightly ran his fingers down his spike then grasped it, slowly pumping it in his hand as Tracks eagerly watched. 

“Lovely.” Tracks was enthralled, lust in his optics. 

After a moment of self pleasuring, he noticed Tracks was doing the same. Ripples moved outward from his body, giving away his underwater activity.

“Stop,” Tracks suddenly ordered.

Drift ceased pumping his spike. 

“Remove the robe—slowly.” 

Gently letting it fall off his shoulders, he paused, rubbing his abdomen for a moment before he lowered his arms and it slipped off. 

“Zetca knows how to pick them.” Tracks lifted a wet hand out of the water and pat the ground at the edge of the pool. “Sit, and put your legs in.”

Drift did as he was asked, and sat, array exposed as he slid his lower legs into the warm water. 

Tracks pushed his thighs apart and hummed approvingly. “Newly modded, I see.” He touched the layer of sensitive platelets that lined the leading edge of his valve. Drift dimmed his optics. He was just as sensitive as he’d been before the upgrades. Tracks rubbed the edge with his thumb in circles, watching Drift’s face. “Feels nice?”

“Yes,” Drift replied, voice thin and airy. 

Tracks smiled. “I may not be allowed to kiss your mouth, but I can kiss you other places.” He dipped down and kissed Drift’s platelet lined valve edge. Parting his lips, his glossa swept over the area, causing Drift to audibly gasp at the sensation. 

This was very different than mechs in the gutters or even at that club. He hadn’t touched Tracks at all and this mech seemed focused on Drift’s pleasure instead. 

Tracks mouthed and licked the platelets, before moving down and dipping his glossa into Drift’s valve. Drift trembled and started to pant in order to keep himself somewhat under control. His valve was almost instantly slick, and he held his spike flush to his abdomen as Tracks worked over his valve with his mouth. 

Finally Tracks pulled back, smiling at the sight of Drift clearly turned on. “You did very well, not overloading yet.”

“You aren’t making it easy,” Drift admitted. 

Tracks stood, water cascading off his upper body. It swirled around his thighs as he moved closer, and Drift noticed that Tracks’ spike was very much erect and ready to go. “I want you to enjoy this as much as I do. I want to feel your valve spasm around my spike as you overload…” 

Drift nodded. “That won’t be a problem.” 

Tracks chuckled. “I like you a lot. To the point, practical even. But that aloof air you put on is simply a front. You enjoy the way this makes you feel, and the loss of control.” He rubbed the head of his spike over the platelets and opening edges of Drift’s valve. “You want this spike buried deep inside you, and later you’ll think about how powerful you felt, being the focus point of my attention.” 

This mech  _ was _ all ego. 

“You’re probably right.” Drift ran a hand over Tracks’ chestplate, then he looked down at the erect spike teasing him. “My valve is aching.” He lowered his hand, fingers trailing the length, feeling the alternating stripe pattern that ridged his spike. 

Tracks leaned in closer, and for a moment Drift thought he might kiss him. Instead he playfully nipped at his nose. “Let’s tend to that ache, hm?” 

Rocking his hips forward, the ridges of his spike stimulated practically every node bundle lining Drift’s valve. He couldn’t help the whimpered cry he made in response. Looking incredibly pleased, Tracks wasted no time and began to thrust hard and deep over and over.

Drift was used to all kinds of spikes, but this ridged one was new. He was going to overload quickly and despite his upgrades there wasn’t much he could do to stop himself. His hands supported his weight as he leaned back on them and he rolled his head back, crying out as an overload claimed him. Pleasure exploded through his array, leaving him shuddering and moaning. 

“Oh yes, lovely. But I’m not done,” Tracks replied, increasing his pace as he thrust. 

“Don’t stop,” Drift said between pants. His valve was already building yet another charge. Those ridges were incredible. They added the perfect amount of varying pressure and friction. 

“I don’t—intend—to,” Tracks replied, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. 

Drift let the pleasure wash over him, valve throbbing around the incredible spike impaling him again and again. He enjoyed most of his guests at the club, but this was on a whole other level. His body tensed again, and he felt yet another overload crest through his array. He shuddered and whimpered as the deep wave of pleasure claimed him. 

“Exquisite,” Tracks said, hands running up and down Drift’s chest. He rested them on Drift’s hips and then finished, thrusting deeply and holding himself there while he roared and overloaded. 

Heat flooded Drift’s valve and he whimpered at the sensation. He panted to help cool his systems, not having expected back to back overloads. 

Tracks stayed buried, leaning in close and kissing Drift’s neck and face, but never his mouth. “You are worth every last credit and so much more.” 

Tracks had been self-assured and controlling right up until this moment. Drift sensed this mech was lonely. He wondered why but his stray thoughts abruptly ended when Tracks suddenly pulled away and sank back into the water. 

Drift started to move to get up, but Tracks grasped his leg still in the water. “Show me.”

“Show you? What exactly?” Drift asked.

Tracks touched his valve rim again, rubbing in circles until fluid seeped from his valve. It trickled down and Tracks looked pleased. “Beautiful.” He continued to caress the sensitive area, fixated. 

“Keep doing that and I’ll overload again,” Drift warned, already feeling his array stir yet again. 

“Please do. I want to watch,” Tracks replied, thumb pressing with more pressure.

Drift whimpered softly, his array already sensitive. It didn’t take long before he moaned and trembled, more fluid escaping as his valve spasmed with yet another overload. He’d made a mess between his legs. 

Tracks leaned in, kissing the platelets again affectionately. Looking up, Tracks smiled. “Before I send you on your way, would you allow me to wash you?” 

A noble wanted to wash  _ him _ ? Drift was confused. “I guess. If that’s what you want?”

“It is.” Tracks took hold of Drift’s hands and gently pulled him down into the pool. 

Drift frowned at the mess he’d left behind. Before he could say anything, he felt a cloth move between his legs, over his aft and up his back. He glanced over his shoulder at the noble mech as he cleaned Drift quite thoroughly. He had met  nobles before but they were nothing like this. 

“This must seem odd to you,” Tracks commented as he moved to Drift’s front and continued to wipe his plating down. 

“I’ll admit, I expected you to ask me to clean  _ you _ ,” Drift replied. The warm water in the pool felt nice in combination with the gentle caress to his plating from the cloth. 

“I’m not a first creation. As a second, I was created and trained to please a first creation or a head of household,” Tracks explained. “My bonded is a head of household and so old he can’t interface anymore. Hence using Zetca’s services.” 

Drift almost felt sorry for him. It was like he was a servant but with a forced bond on top of that. 

“And since I won’t likely survive the broken bond when he does pass on, he allows me to indulge as much as I like.” Tracks faced Drift in the water, staring right into his optics. “I’m aware Zetca took Blaze away from me because I offered for him to live with me. I won’t make the same mistake twice. I quite enjoyed this. I hope you’ll be willing to come back again.”

Drift smiled. “I enjoyed it, too. Assuming Zetca lets me, I’d be happy to come back.”

“I look forward to our next encounter.” Tracks kissed Drift’s forehelm. “You may dry off and head downstairs. Tumbler will see you out.” 

Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Drift got out of the pool, dried off and nodded farewell before going down the stairs. Tracks had watched him the whole time until he was out of sight. 

At the base of the stairs the servant, Tumbler, handed Drift a card with one thousand credits. 

“Your tip. I’ll walk you out so the concierge doesn’t harass you,” Tumbler said, gesturing to the door. 

In the lift, Tumbler glanced at Drift. “I could tell he liked you.”

“Oh?” Drift replied. 

“He’s gone through three others since Blaze stopped coming. Not once did he wash one of them,” Tumbler said with a small smile. “Nor did he kiss their faces.”

“You were watching?” Drift asked.

“My job is to protect Tracks. So yes. Does that bother you?” Tumbler asked as the doors of the lift opened. 

“Nope. He’s lucky to have such a loyal mech looking out for him,” Drift replied. 

“I suppose. Considering what will likely be a short life for him, I want to be sure he enjoys it,” Tumbler replied. 

Drift nodded. 

“Until next time,” Tumbler said, as the lobby doors opened to the street.

“Until next time.” Drift waved then walked back out into the real world. 

His first “client” experience had gone well. Assuming this was how this job would always be, he felt truly fortunate. A very nice tip, several good overloads… this was the fresh start he’d hoped for so far. He wondered what the medic that saved him would think. Would he be happy for him?


	3. Blurr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift meets a celebrity.

The communicator Zetca gave Drift buzzed on his hip. He’d decided to fuel up before his client for the evening at the energon bar in the hotel. He opened it to read the message:

_ I hope all is going well. Your client this evening requests discretion. Wait until a mech named Pitboss comes to get you at the bar. Please keep this communicator with you and if the client gets out of hand message me. He can get rowdy when he’s drunk. Good luck! _

Drift frowned. It seemed Zetca wanted to test his skill in handling a famous mech who apparently didn’t necessarily abide the rules. 

“You Drift?” Asked a burly-looking minibot. 

“That’s me,” Drift replied. 

“I’m Pitboss. Here to take you upstairs. Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Drift replied before finishing off his drink. 

He followed the minibot through the back kitchen to the employee hallway. At the end was a lift meant for the hotel staff to use. They got in and Pitboss hit the button for the top floor. 

“Look, he’s already pretty wasted. But in an hour or so he’ll start to sober. Being a racer, he converts fuel really fast. Try to talk him up before getting to business. It’ll make it easier on you,” Pitboss explained. “Oh, and his buddy Fasttrack is with him. Zetca told you they might tag team you, right?”

Drift glanced at the minibot. “I’m aware.”

“Okay. Well, you’ve been warned. Racers, amirite?” Pitboss laughed as the lift door opened and they stepped off. 

Drift had plenty of experience with more than one at the same time. He wasn’t too worried. They walked to the suite door and Pitboss opened it with his pass. 

“Pitty!” Blurr called out from the sofa area. “Welcome back—oh hey there. You brought me a present, huh?” 

Fasttrack turned to look at Drift, too. “That’s a nice one, Pitty.” 

“Yeah well, he’s all yours for the night. I’m off to hook up with Catalyst. Don’t scrape up your paint too much!” Pitboss then quickly left. 

Drift frowned at the abrupt exit. 

“Come on over, pretty-bot. Tell us your name,” Blurr said, patting the couch beside him.

Approaching, Drift found it rather surreal to see the top, most famous racers of all of Cybertron casually hanging out. He noticed one empty bottle of high grade and another half-consumed bottle on the center table between the sofas. 

He gracefully sat and smiled at each of them. “My name is Drift.”

“That’s a nice name…” Fasttrack said, optics roaming over his frame. 

“ _ Very _ nice,” Blurr said. “I like your markings,” he said, touching Drift’s shoulders and the red lines adorning them. 

“Thanks. So, I’m supposed to state the rules,” Drift started to explain. “Rule one, no har—“

“You think he’s modded to take us both at once?” Fasttrack interrupted. 

Blurr shrugged “I assume so. The last one could, though, he couldn’t do it very long before his valve lining got too sor—“

“Excuse me,” Drift interrupted. “Why are you talking like I’m not here?”

Blurr looked at Drift. “Because you’re a nobody. A pretty nobody, but still a nobody. We pay to use you, end of story.”

Drift stood up. He unhooked his communicator and started typing a message to Zetca as he walked toward the door. 

Blurr shot out of his seat and was in front of Drift in an instant. “What are you doing? Where are you going? What are you typing?”

“I’m telling Zetca you wouldn’t let me go through the rules and I’m leaving,” Drift replied, not looking up from his communicator.

“Don’t do that. You just got here. Zetca has the best mechs and I really want you to stay.” Blurr looked worried. 

“Zetca  _ did _ warn us after last time,” Fasttrack piped up as he poured himself more high grade.

Drift hardened his gaze as he looked at Blurr. “Famous or not, you don’t get to treat me like a piece of scrap.” 

Blurr nodded. “I’m sorry.  _ Really _ . Don’t go.”

Drift stood for a long moment, then relented. “Okay. I’m going to sit down again. And you’re both going to let me state the rules.” Drift held his communicator up. “But if either of you interrupt or talk to me like that again, I’m hitting send on my message.”

Blurr’s optics flicked to the communicator in his hand. “We’ll be good. Promise.”

That was better, Drift thought. He returned to the sofa and sat. Fasttrack looked at Blurr and they both seemed worried Drift might tell on them. 

“So yeah, the rules. Go ahead,” Blurr prompted. 

Drift calmed himself as best he could. He hadn’t expected he’d need to use threats to keep two celebrities in line. “Rule one: no harming me.”

They both nodded. 

“Rule two: if anyone is uncomfortable, the encounter ends.” Drift frowned as he said that. 

“We want you to be comfortable. Right, Fast?” Blurr said, looking at his friend. 

“Absolutely,” Fasttrack agreed.

“Rule three: no kissing on the mouth,” Drift finished. 

They both nodded. 

“So tell me, what were you looking to do this evening?” Drift asked conversationally. 

Blurr then smiled. “We raced this morning. I won, of course.”

“You always win,” Fasttrack replied with a deep frown. 

“To get ready we train but we also abstain from physical activity outside our sport. Until after the race, that is…” Blurr reached over to trail his fingers up Drift’s thigh. “All those weeks of not ‘facing…” The look on both their faces reminded Drift a fuel-starved mech being given his first energon in days.

“You guys have each other. Why hire me?” Drift asked.

“Less personal this way. Start only ‘facing each other, and then emotions get involved, and it becomes a distraction on the track. No, I prefer someone who I know can handle interfacing with us, and getting all this pent up energy out.” Blurr rubbed Drift’s thigh. 

“Makes sense. This will be an all night thing?” Drift asked. 

“Until we eventually pass out,” Fasttrack replied. “Thing about spending all our energy is we tend to crash hard.”

“I wanna go first,” Blurr said.

“Fine by me. I wanna watch,” Fasttrack replied. 

Drift turned his attention to Blurr. “Right here on the sofa? Or do you wanna use that big berth over there?” 

Blurr began to run his hands over Drift’s plating. “Right here.” He pressed his hand between Drift’s legs, cupping the closed cover. 

No foreplay. Drift could do that. But he wanted to be in a comfortable position if this was going to be a while. He stood up and caressed Blurr’s helm adornments. “I’ll get on all fours on the sofa. Blurr goes then you, Fasttrack.” Both their faces lit up with excitement.

Drift crawled back onto the sofa, aft out as he leaned against the back. Blurr was on his feet instantly, rubbing the closed cover. Drift let it open, and Blurr sank a finger right into his valve. The mod he’d been given let him slick his valve with a command but he honestly didn’t need it. 

“He’s wet already,” Blurr said excitedly. His panel unlatched and he stepped forward. “I tend to go fast and hard.”

“Sounds good to me,” Drift replied. 

Blurr slid himself to the hilt with a low moan. “He’s perfect. Frag. So perfect.” He stayed buried a moment, enjoying the sensation. 

Fasttrack moved from the other sofa and sat next to them for a better view. “Can I touch you while he ‘faces you?”

“Of course,” Drift replied. 

“And three...two...one…” Blurr counted down, then began to thrust hard and fast, just like he’d warned. 

The penetration was deep and Drift moaned. Despite the speed of the thrusts, his spike at this angle from behind made Drift’s valve throb with pleasure. At the same time, Fasttrack pet his plating, fingers trailing over his spinal unit and eventually around to his front. He found Drift’s spike and began to massage it. 

“He’s so pretty. Especially like this,” Fasttrack said, gaze fixated on Drift as he moaned. 

Blurr’s speed increased and he held fast to Drift’s hips. “Gonna…” he roared, pushing to the hilt and overloading. 

Drift had been close himself, but not quite. The rush of hot fluid did make him whimper, though. 

“My turn.” Fasttrack hopped up, pushing Blurr off and opening his array. He wasted no time, spike sliding right in. He groaned in response. “You weren’t kidding…” 

“Please,” Drift said, “I was so close…”

Fasttrack grinned at Blurr. “You finished too fast.” He then began to thrust. Not quite as fast, but just as deeply. 

Drift grasped at the sofa back and shuddered, overloading hard as he cried out. Blurr nuzzled his cheek. “You’re even prettier overloading.” 

“Primus!” Fasttrack groaned as he thrust through Drift’s overload. He didn’t slow down, pounding Drift until he overloaded, too, a minute or so later with a low moan. 

More heated fluid flooded Drift’s valve, and he groaned softly. Blurr pet one of his helm fins. “Gorgeous.” 

Fasttrack pulled out, and Drift felt fluid escape down his thighs. He started to lower his aft when Blurr got up, and lifted it again, sliding his spike in. “We’re gonna take turns for a while, you up for this?” He asked before he started.

Drift looked over his shoulder at Blurr and nodded. “Go ahead.”

Blurr smiled and then began to thrust again. 

The two traded off for a few rounds. Drift overloaded several times, and by the fourth overload, knew he needed a break. Blurr was spike deep as he came again, and before Fasttrack could trade, Drift lowered his aft. 

“I need a break and some fuel,” Drift admitted. 

Fasttrack poured some high grade, and offered it to Drift. 

“He can’t have high grade. Zetca doesn’t let his agents drink. One sec.” Blurr zoomed over to the bar beside the berth, and filled a cube. 

Drift curled up on the sofa, aware of what a debauched mess he was now. 

Blurr returned, and sat with him, giving him the cube. Grateful, Drift smiled and took it, sipping down the contents right away. 

Fasttrack drank the high grade he’d poured in a few greedy gulps.

“You’re holding up really well,” Blurr commented. 

Drift chuckled a bit at that. “It’s my job, isn’t it?”

“I’m amazed you’ve overloaded so much,” Fasttrack commented.

“Our last one didn’t. His valve got too sore to keep going,” Blurr said. He reached over and touched Drift’s spike, trailing a finger up its length. “You’re good at taking spike. How about spiking someone?”

“Wanna find out?” Drift asked.

“No one can make Blurr overload that way,” Fasttrack replied. 

“Why is that?” Drift asked. 

“Shut up.” Blurr shot Fasttrack a dirty look. 

Fasttrack poured the rest of the bottle into his glass and drank down the contents. “Okay, you ready to go more?” He tried to stand up, but staggered, nearly tripping on the center table. 

“I have a better idea. Go have a seat,” Drift replied. He got up and helped Fasttrack sit on the other sofa. Once the racer was settled, he got down on his knees between his legs, he mouthed Fasttrack’s spike. 

“Oh, I like this idea,” Fasttrack replied, slurring a bit. 

Drift hoped Blurr wouldn’t mind, as he swallowed the spike whole. It slid part way down his intake and he sucked as he pulled almost completely off before deep throating it again. 

“Ohhh fraaag…” Fasttrack groaned. 

Blurr moved to sit beside his friend, watching curiously as Drift expertly deep throated Fasttrack’s spike. Blurr reached over, fingers touching Drift’s throat and feeling the bulge from outside as he took the whole thing in. 

This was something he’d done a lot in the gutters. A skill he’d built over years. While they were impressed with his ability to not gag, he preferred this method to avoid the taste when mechs overloaded. It would shoot straight down his intake to his tank. 

“Oh frag, I can’t…” Fasttrack lifted his hips, forcing his spike down Drift’s throat as he overloaded with a long, sustained moan. As he finished he slumped right there on the sofa and passed out. 

Pulling off, Drift wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at the racer. “Is he okay?”

“Told you. We ‘face until we pass out.” Blurr looked at Drift, lust in his optics. “Now that he’s out, I wanna try your spike. You wanna get cleaned up a bit then meet me at the berth?”

Drift looked up at Blurr. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Washrack is over there,” Blurr pointed across the suite.

Drift got up and went into the washrack. He wetted a cloth and cleaned up his very messy valve and thighs. They’d really gone to town on him… and in him… He checked himself in the mirror, and when he felt he looked presentable enough, returned to the main suite.

Approaching the berth, he smiled at the sight of this athletic, handsome mech laid out with his legs parted. 

“Why did you tell him to shut up earlier about being spiked? Especially if this is something you wanted?” Drift asked, sitting on the edge of the berth. 

Blurr half-smiled. “We prefer a third party mech, but that doesn’t mean we don’t ‘face each other now and again. He sucks at spiking. Way too fast. I never overload with him.” 

Drift scooted up onto the berth, and began to touch Blurr’s plating. He could feel how light and aerodynamic his body was. “You think I can get you off then?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure you can,” Blurr replied, enjoying the intimate touches. “And I’m probably gonna pass out when I do. Your tip is on the table next to the door, by the way.”

Drift chuckled. “Am I allowed to indulge in a bit of foreplay first?”

Blurr nodded. “You’ve proven yourself. Anyone that can overload that many times and deep throat like that, can touch me however he wants to overload me.”

Smiling, Drift moved to sit between Blurr’s parted legs. He rubbed the leading edge of his valve with his thumb, warming him up. He then bent down and began to lick and mouth the sensitive platelets. Blurr moaned in response. Drift slid two fingers inside, rubbing the mesh lining as he continued to mouth the sensitive area. 

“What _aren’t_ you good at?” Blurr groaned. 

Drift smiled as he lifted his head up and withdrew his fingers. He suckled them, making a show of it for Blurr. “Let’s see if I can do what your friend apparently can’t.”

Moving to lay over Blurr, Drift rolled his hips, spike spreading the racer’s valve as he entered. Blurr moaned, and grasped at Drift’s hips. “Just like that…” 

If someone told him a few hours ago he’d be spiking the number one racer on Cybertron, he’d have laughed.

He languidly rolled his hips, a totally different type of pace than Blurr had used on him. Meant to draw out the sensation and deepen the level of pleasure. Blurr trembled beneath him, optics unfocused and dark as he moaned. He was beautiful, no doubt. Drift could feel the building charge, his spike twitching slightly as he penetrated the velvety heat of Blurr’s valve. 

“You’re valve is really nice,” Drift commented.

Blurr managed to grunt in reply, too blissed out to properly answer. His optics trying and failing to focus on Drift. 

Drift decided to take a bit of a chance, unsure if he’d get to ‘face Blurr again, and leaned down, mouthing his throat and pressing to the hilt, holding himself buried. Blurr trembled more, hands grasping at Drift’s plating. 

“I’m going to deeply thrust. It’ll be shallow but feel amazing. You ready?” Drift asked. 

Blurr nodded, rendered speechless already.

Drift rocked his hips, already buried and pressing as deep as his spike could go. His pace was faster now and he watched as Blurr’s mouth fell open with a long moan. “I’m going to overload inside you, if that’s alright?” Drift asked, his voice strained as he continued to thrust. 

“Please…” Blurr managed to reply, between moans. 

Mouthing his throat again, Drift focused on his hips’ movements. He then felt his valve walls squeeze hard and Blurr cried out sharply as he overloaded. The tightness was all Drift needed to also go over that edge. He grunted and held himself buried deep as a rush of heat escaped his spike and flooded Blurr’s lovely valve. His whole frame stiffened as pleasure blossomed through his array. Primus, it felt good to spike for a change.

Drift whimpered softly as the sensation began to ebb and he laid across Blurr. He panted, expelling heat so his systems could normalize. After a moment, he noticed Blurr wasn’t moving. He lifted his head to see he was passed out with a smile on his lips. 

He pushed himself up and off the racer, shuffling back to the washrack. He turned on the water and this time stepped into the stall. The hot water felt nice pelting his plating, and didn’t move for several minutes. Eventually he grabbed a cleaning cloth and began to properly wash up. 

Dried off and presentable again, Drift walked back out the main suite. 

Fasttrack was curled up on his side on the sofa. Blurr was laid out on the berth. Drift took one of the spare blankets from the berth and put it over Fasttrack. Then he pulled the one on the berth over Blurr. He smiled at the sight. From total aft to adorably recharging. This was a strange job. 

On his way out, he picked up the tip. Another 1,000 credits. Very nice. He tucked it into subspace and left the suite. 

He was definitely going to recharge really well tonight. 


	4. Perceptor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teaching is not Drift's thing, but he does his best.

Nervous about carrying so many credits, Drift opened a real account at a bank. He marveled at his shiny card linked to the credits he deposited. Step by step, he was building a life for himself. 

Excited, he used the card at a parlor to have his scrapes from the night before buffed out before his appointment later today. 

With time to kill, he decided to walk to the uptown area he was going to meet his client at instead of taking a tram.

As he crossed a bridge that went over an area that collected waste water, he noticed the mechs down below. He went to the edge of the bridge, looking down at the types of mechs he’d lived with for so long on the streets. Some were high, boosters stabbed into their helms, others drunk. All had lost hope. He frowned. Maybe he should go find that medic and thank him. Without him, Drift would be down there still.

…

The hotel for his appointment this evening wasn’t as upscale as the last two. It was decent, though. Nicer than the one he was living in at the moment. 

Drift entered the lobby and went to the counter asking which room Perceptor was in. He then took the lift up to the fourth floor and found the room, 414. He knocked and waited. 

He heard a crash and boom sound, then the door opened. “Oh! Please come in.”

“Are you alright? I heard a noise?” Drift asked as he entered. 

“I was just clumsy. I brought my work on a couple datapads and knocked them off the table when I got up. My apologies,” Perceptor replied. “You’re Drift, correct?”

“I am. Love your accent, by the way. Pretty,” Drift commented. He looked around the room. It had a berth on the other side of a decorative wall, and there was a couch and low table in the front area. “And you’re Perceptor.” He looked at him, smiling. 

“You are even lovelier than the picture I was shown,” Perceptor said, clearly distracted and nervous. 

Drift was comfortable with mechs and their kinks. But a first timer? And this one was older, too. Not a kid eager to try interfacing. He was definitely outside his comfort zone, but he didn’t want to let Perceptor know that. 

“Well, Thanks. Um, how about we sit? I have to go over the rules and all that,” Drift said, gesturing to the couch. 

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Perceptor sat down.

Drift sat beside him and glanced at the datapads. What kind of mech shows up to a paid date with work? 

“So let’s get the rules out of the way. Rule one: no harming me,” Drift said.

“ _ Never _ . Do mechs harm you?” Perceptor asked, looking horrified. 

“No, no. I mean, some mechs can be rough. It’s just to be sure they know not to treat me badly. That’s all,” Drift replied. Primus, this mech was so innocent. “Rule two: if either of us are uncomfortable, we end the encounter.”

Perceptor raised his hand. “I’m terribly nervous. Does that mean we shouldn’t continue?”

Drift was as at a loss for words for a moment. “Well, ah, do you not want to go through with this?”

“I do. I—Well, you see, I’ve been very focused on my work most of my life, and I’ve reached the point where I’d like to start searching for someone to build a relationship with. My lack of experience in these matters complicates things greatly. It’s an overwhelming prospect to most if I mention my lack of interfacing experience. So I decided to seek professional help. Someone experienced who could teach me,” Perceptor explained. 

“That makes sense.” Drift smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. So this was this mech’s first time, but he was also looking at this as a lesson of sorts. He could handle that.

“Was that all I needed to know before we start? The rules, I mean?” Perceptor asked, rubbing his hands together nervously. 

“Oh, right. One last rule: no kissing on the mouth,” Drift quickly added. 

“Ah. To deter emotional attachment. Very wise,” Perceptor replied. “So, do we go to the berth? I wonder if I should take notes?” 

Drift reached over, taking hold of Perceptor’s hands. “Look, I’m gonna be really honest. I haven’t been a first for any mech in a really long time. I’m nervous, too.” 

Perceptor almost looked relieved at his confession. 

“We have all evening. How about we go slow? Cover the basics before we try anything?” Drift offered. 

“That sounds like a solid course of action,” Perceptor replied. 

“Let’s stand up.” Drift got to his feet and still holding Perceptor’s hands let him to an open area. “The basics.” He smiled as he guided one of Perceptor’s hands to touch his chest. “Every mech has sensitive spots. Usually along transformation seams or thin areas of metal covered in higher densities of sensors. Touch me where you think I’m sensitive.” He let go of Perceptor’s hands.

Perceptor took a moment to look Drift over. “You have seams here,” he said, fingers following the lines along his chestplate edges. 

“Yep,” Drift replied. 

“And your helm fins?” Perceptor reached up to caress one. 

“Those, too.” Drift smiled. “If you’re trying to seduce a mech, you touch places like those.” 

“I see. Fascinating,” Perceptor replied. 

Drift took hold of a hand and guided it to his inner thigh. “If your first touches work, then move here. Inner thighs are very sensitive.” He moved the same hand to cup his array cover. “And if you’re both revved up, touch here to be sure. Feel that it’s warm?” 

“Oh, yes.” Perceptor looked very intrigued.

“If your partner is warm like this, then it’s time to move to the next level.” Drift let the panel open, exposing his array. 

Perceptor suddenly looked a bit nervous, but also completely transfixed. 

“Your turn. I’m going to touch you and get you to open up. Okay?” Drift asked, wanting to be sure he wasn’t going too fast.

“Please. I am very curious how I’ll react,” Perceptor replied. 

Drift trailed his fingers over the edges of Perceptor’s chest plate, then over his abdomen plating. He leaned in and blew air over Perceptor’s side helm vents before nuzzling them. Perceptor audibly gasped. Drift smiled and then trailed his fingers up the inner sides of his turquoise thighs. Perceptor shivered as he looked down to watch. Finally, Drift cupped the cover and rubbed it until it felt nice and warm. “Open for me?” He asked. 

Perceptor obliged, array cover snapping open. “Incredible. My body is trembling from just your touches.” 

Drift chuckled. “Well, I have a lot of experience.” He trailed his fingers over Perceptor’s spike. “Touch me, too.”

Perceptor nodded, and mirrored Drift’s delicate touch. “Your spike is decorated?”

“Part of the job. I got an upgrade. It helps add pleasure for my partner when I spike,” Drift wrapped his fingers around Perceptor’s spike and gently massaged it. “Yours is very nice, by the way. With practice, you’d turn pretty much anyone into molten metal.” 

Perceptor chuckled nervously. 

“You self pleasure?” Drift asked. 

“Only occasionally. When my processor won’t stop with those types of thoughts,” Perceptor explained. 

“I’m gonna skip manually pleasuring. I want to show you something else.” Drift dropped down to his knees and licked up Perceptor’s spike. 

Perceptor made a funny sound, obviously surprised by what he did. “That feels very stimulating. But, I might lose my footing.” 

Drift grinned. “Then let’s go to the berth.” 

They both moved to the berth, and Drift had Perceptor sit on the edge. He got down on his knees again between his legs and started to mouth over his spike. He didn’t want to give Perceptor unrealistic goals for oral acts, so he opted not to deep throat him. He simply wrapped his mouth over the head and suckled as he squeezed the base. By the noises Perceptor made, it was obviously more than he’d ever experienced before. 

Drift pulled off and continued to pump Perceptor’s spike in his hand. “Lots of mechs don’t enjoy or offer this. So when someone does it’s nice to pet their helm so they know you appreciate it.” 

“I see.” Perceptor nodded.

Drift resumed bobbing over Perceptor’s spike with his mouth. Perceptor gently pet his helm fins. Most mechs liked to use them as handles, so the gentleness of the touches meant a lot to Drift. 

“Oh, oh, oh, oh!” Perceptor suddenly overloaded without much warning. 

Drift was caught off guard but managed to keep his mouth wrapped over the head, milking him until he was done. While this wasn’t his favorite taste in the world, he found Perceptor was quite mild. Not bitter or sour like some mechs. 

Drift let his spike fall from his mouth and licked his lips clean. “How was that?”

“Incredible. Much better than on my own,” Perceptor said, looking relaxed and quite satisfied. 

“Good.” Drift leaned forward and kissed up Perceptor’s chest. He then mouthed his throat and finally nuzzled his cheek. “Let’s get you to overload from your valve next.” 

Perceptor looked positively dazed. “I thought no kissing.”

“On the mouth,” Drift clarified. 

“Oh yes. The mouth…” Perceptor then dared to touch Drift without his prompting. He traced a transformation seam on his shoulder. 

“Scoot back and lay down. Legs parted for me,” Drift gently ordered. 

Perceptor did just that, laying back in the berth, trusting Drift. 

Crawling up into the berth, Drift laid down next to him is on his side. “Let’s do a bit of foreplay. I want you to touch my spike and I’m going to touch your valve. Get each other nice and primed.”

Perceptor nodded. “Then you’ll spike into me?”

Drift chuckled at how cute this mech was. “It’s called spiking. And yeah.”

Reaching over, Perceptor wrapped his hand around the pretty spike and gently massaged it. At the same time, Drift began to rub the platelet area of Perceptor’s valve. 

“Oh my… That’s a lovely sensation,” Perceptor said, optics darkening. 

Drift smiled, then slid two fingers down into his valve briefly before pulling them out. 

Perceptor gasped. “That’s… you’ll place your spike there?”

“I will. But I want your valve to be slick. Don’t ‘face with anyone unless your valve is properly primed. Damage can be done to the lining otherwise,” Drift explained as he once again dipped his fingers into his valve. He pumped his fingers in and out a few times, finally feeling the lubricant coating the mesh lining. 

Perceptor had forgotten about Drift’s spike, too distracted by what was being done to him. Drift didn’t mind. He was just glad Perceptor was enjoying this. 

Drift kissed Perceptor’s cheek, then moved to lay over top of him. 

“Before I do this, are you sure?” Drift asked. “Sure that you want me to be your first?”

Perceptor placed his hands on Drift’s hips. “Absolutely. Please continue.”

Permission granted, Drift rolled his hips forward, spike slowly penetrating Perceptor’s unused valve. The mesh was smooth and tight. Drift wanted to be gentle, make sure Perceptor felt nothing but pleasure. 

“How’s that?” Drift asked. 

“Incredible,” Perceptor replied. He moved his hands over Drift’s sides. “There are so many hidden sensory nodes. They’re all sending signals that make my valve feel…  _ very _ good.”

Drift smiled. “I’m going to thrust. But I’ll be gentle.” 

Perceptor looked up into Drift’s face. “I can see the temptation of kissing now.”

“Yeah. Me, too. When you’re with someone else like this, definitely kiss them,” Drift replied. 

He then began to shallowly roll his hips, penetrating deeper with each forward motion. Perceptor grasped at his plating and made a whimpering sound. 

“Does it hurt?” Drift asked, wanting to be sure he wasn't being too rough to start. 

“Not at all…” Perceptor replied, before moaning softly.

Chuckling at how adorable this mech was, Drift continued. “If it’s more comfortable to put your legs in a different position, go ahead.”

Perceptor experimentally adjusted his legs, eventually settling on planting them with his feet on the berth and legs parted wider. Once he did that, Drift was able to thrust much deeper. Perceptor squeezed Drift around the middle and moaned, clearly enjoying himself. Drift wasn’t sure he’d overload, but he didn’t mind. This wasn’t about him, after all.

After a few minutes, Perceptor’s valve was very hot, throbbing around his spike. Drift held himself back, not wanting to hurt Perceptor, but it did feel really nice. He mouthed Perceptor’s jawline. “I’m gonna go faster and a bit harder. If you don’t like it, just say so.”

“I will inform you if this stops feeling incredible,” Perceptor replied, voice thin and airy with desire. “But I highly doubt it.”

Drift chuckled, then increased his pace and pressed deeper. Perceptor’s valve felt wonderful, just the right amount of tightness. Perceptor shivered and whimpered again. Drift felt the mesh walls ripple, and knew he’d overload any moment. “Let it happen,” Drift encouraged.

“In the name of Primus, himself!” Perceptor arched beneath Drift, hugging him tightly as his valve spasmed around his spike. Mouth open as he groaned, body shuddering with pleasure, Perceptor looked truly beautiful in the throes of an overload. 

Drift was close, but not quite there. He languidly rolled his hips as Perceptor’s body relaxed in the aftermath. 

“The firing of sensors from deep inside my array is so much different that with my spike. Completely unexpected, and quite enjoyable,” Perceptor said, marveling over the experience. “Did you not discharge?” He asked noticing the hard length was still buried in his valve.

“I was close, but this isn’t about me,” Drift replied, smiling.

“But I would like to feel you overload as well. It’s important to my research I learn how each act of interfacing feels and works,” Perceptor replied. 

Drift smiled. “Okay. I’ll keep going. If it starts to hurt, stop me right away.”

“Of course,” Perceptor replied. 

Drift resumed thrusting, enjoying the brand new valve lining and how well it seemed to fit his spike. It didn’t take long, Drift soon trembled and thrust to the hilt, grunting as he overloaded. Fluid flooded Perceptor’s valve and he absently thrust until the moment of pleasure passed. He stilled, and looked at Perceptor. “You okay?”

Perceptor reached up to gently pet a helm fin. “The heat of the fluid feels oddly satisfying. And quite intimate.” 

Drift smiled at. “I’ve never heard it described that way, but yeah. It is.” 

“What follows a coupling?” Perceptor asked, continuing to pet Drift’s helm fin. 

“Some mechs rest a bit, then interface more. Some like to cuddle close. Some just close up their arrays and leave. Depends,” Drift replied. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to try the cuddling,” Perceptor said. 

Drift was a little surprised. He’d expected Perceptor would want to interface more. “Sure.” 

Pulling out, Drift moved to lay against Perceptor’s side. Perceptor pet Drift’s helm and face. This was nice. Drift wasn’t used to tenderness, and dimmed his optics, finding he enjoyed it. His life had lacked comfort and affection, but until now he’d never thought he needed those things. Feeling safe with Perceptor, Drift soon dozed off into a light recharge. 

Waking with a start, Drift sat up. He hadn’t meant to drift off like that.

“Are you alright?” Perceptor asked. 

Drift saw Perceptor was right beside him, propped up by some pillows and reading one of his datapads. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to recharge like that,” Drift replied. 

“Don’t be. I’ve quite enjoyed this. You’ve strengthened my desire to find a companion,” Perceptor replied. He sat up more properly and set his datapad aside. 

Drift frowned. Zetca would be mad if he found out Drift had recharged on the job. “Seems I was out only a little while. Do you want to learn more about interfacing?”

“I do. But I would like to take my time to digest all you’ve taught me this evening. Are you available for more lessons at a later time?” Perceptor asked. 

“Ah, yeah. Just let my boss know. He’ll arrange it,” Drift replied. 

“Excellent. I look forward to learning more from you,” Perceptor smiled, clearly thrilled Drift agreed to see him again. 

“Could you do me a favor? Don’t mention I recharged?” Drift asked, worried how it might look.

Perceptor nodded, reaching up and touching Drift’s helm fin affectionately. “Of course.” 

“Well, I think it’s best I head out,” Drift replied, leaning into the touch. “And you’re a good student. Learning what I like already.”

“You’re an excellent teacher.” Perceptor smiled. “Oh, let me get your tip.” Perceptor got up from the berth and went to the table where there was a small bag meant for carrying datapads. He pulled out a card with 500 credits. 

Drift graciously took it. “Thank you. Until next time.”

“Yes, next time.” Perceptor waved as Drift left. 

Riding the lift down, Drift felt oddly empty. In the club, the guests got an hour and that was it. He was also observed the whole time. This job was different and he felt Perceptor had exposed a desire he didn’t know he had; the desire to be cared for. His job would make that nearly impossible, though. He’d have to learn settle for no longer being homeless or starving... 

…

“You got really great reviews from all your clients. I’ve set up more sessions for Tracks and Perceptor, too.” Zetca looked pleased. “How are you feeling about this job so far?”

Drift shifted a little in the plush chair. “It’s great. I’m not used to having free time, though. I’ve been walking around the city a lot. Exploring,” Drift replied. “Oh, and I got a bank account. I know you wanted to do direct transfers?” He pulled his still shiny card from subspace. 

“Great.” Zetca took the card, copying down the account number. “I’ll get your pay deposited as soon as possible.” He handed the card back.  “Well, I encourage you to find a hobby for your spare time. It’ll help you balance your work life better.” Zetca picked up a datapad, handing it off to Drift. “Here’s your next line up of clients.”


	5. Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After several weeks at his new job, Drift has started settled into having a life he enjoys.

Several weeks later:

Inspecting himself in the parlor mirror, Drift made sure they’d waxed him thoroughly. 

“Stunning as always,” the attendant said. “Did I miss anywhere?”

“Nope. Looks good.” Drift smiled and gave the attendant a little tip on top of the fee. “See you in a couple days.”

Walking out into the street, Drift made his way to his next client’s appointment. He was downcity, which seemed to be the most popular place mechs liked to book paid dates. 

Turning a corner he collided with a young mech, falling backward onto the sidewalk. 

“Whoa! Sorry. Didn’t mean to knock you over,” said the young mech. He then looked Drift up and down before offering a hand to help him up. 

“No harm done.” Drift looked down at himself, making sure his plating still looked okay. 

“Let me get you a drink or something. It’s the least I could do,” the young mech said, looking truly sorry. 

“I have an appointment. Otherwise, I might,” Drift replied. He turned to try and check his backside wasn’t scraped up too much. 

“Late for an appointment, looking perfect and I knocked you over. Primus, let me get you a drink some other time.  _ Please? _ ” The young mech pulled out his communicator. “Lets trade numbers. Here,” he said, offering it to Drift. 

The mech was pretty cute, and Drift liked his flame paint job. “Yeah, okay.” Drift had gotten a personal communicator to keep work and his sadly lacking personal life separate. He took his out from subspace and tapped it against the young mech’s to trade numbers. He read the name. “Hot Rod, hm?”

“Most call me Roddy.” Hot Rod looked at his screen. “Drift. Pretty name for a gorgeous mech.”

Drift half-smiled. “Thanks. I do need to get going, though.”

Hot Rod nodded. “Good luck. And hopefully I’ll see you later.”

Sliding his communicator in subspace, Drift smiled. “You will. You owe me a drink afterall.” He then turned and headed on his way. 

…

The hotel lobby was upscale, with an open bar area and a mech playing music softly in the corner for the guests. Drift had instructions to meet his client here, so he took a seat and ordered a regular energon. 

After a few minutes, he wondered if the client had changed their mind. He wasn’t used to waiting like this. He’d been working this job for several weeks now, and not one had been late. 

Through the entryway at the front a very stunning mech swept into the lobby. Drift was distracted by his ornate plating, which was very unusual looking. The mech walked up to him and smiled. 

“You’re Drift, correct?”

It was then Drift realized this was his client, Wing. He got to his feet in an instant. “Yes, and you’re Wing.”

Wing had piercing yellow optics which took a moment to look Drift over. “Tell me, Drift, do you enjoy energon treats?”

Drift nodded. “Now and again.”

Wing took hold of his hand, and then stepped in close, speaking into his audio. “Let’s go for a walk. I assume you read my request.”

“I did. My boss said it’s fine as long as we’re discreet,” Drift replied. 

“Excellent. Let’s go tantalize our receptors,” Wing said, walking back outside with Drift in tow. 

They strolled down the street toward the merchant area. Wing held fast to his hand, smiling brightly. Drift was a little nervous about fulfilling the request, but Zetca trusted him, and he didn’t want to disappoint his boss.

“I’m supposed to go over some rules with you,” Drift said. 

“Ah, yes. Go ahead,” Wing replied.

“Rule one: no harming me,” Drift said.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Wing replied.

“Rule two: if either of us are uncomfortable the encounter ends,” Drift continued.

“You’ve agreed to fulfilling my request, so I assume you aren’t uncomfortable?” Wing asked.

“I’m fine with it, yeah,” Drift replied. 

“Good. We are going to have an exciting afternoon.” Wing’s optics glinted with mischief.

“And the last rule is no kissing me on the mouth,” Drift finished, finding himself smiling. Wing’s excitement was apparently contagious.

“Too bad, but understandable,” Wing replied. “Ah, this was the place I wanted to try.” 

Veering off, they entered an establishment and were seated at a semi-circle booth. They scooted to sit side by side. The waiter took their order, and while they waited to be served Wing turned to better face Drift. 

“Tell me, do you enjoy your line of work?” Wing asked. 

“I do. A lot, actually,” Drift replied. “What is it that you do?” He asked conversationally.

“I’m in charge of training new recruits to the Circle of Light. I’ve come to Iacon on a supply run, though. It’s nice to leave the Crystal City now and again. Our scientists require specific supplies, so I always volunteer to go pick up what they need and escort the shipment back,” Wing explained. 

Wing reached under the table as he spoke, fingers rubbing Drift’s inner thigh. 

“I saw you’re a flier on your profile. But I don’t see your wings?” Drift asked, fascinated by the ornate plating of this mech.

The waiter returned, setting down a plate of various energon goodies. 

“Thank you,” Wing said to the waiter. 

Once the waiter was out of sight, Wing rubbed Drift’s array panel. “My wings are folded,” he answered, moving them upward to show Drift. “Wouldn’t you like a treat?”

Drift nodded. He took one, and popped it into his mouth, chewing it slowly. 

Wing scooted a little closer. “Open for me. I have another treat for you.”

Obeying, Drift let his panel open. The table blocked the view as Wing sank his fingers into Drift’s valve. Drift casually picked up another treat, this time pressing it to Wing’a lips. His handsome client smiled and opened his mouth, taking the treat. 

Wing reached into his subspace pocket and pulled out an interfacing toy. It was shaped like an egg with a loop on one end. “Have another,” Wing said. 

Drift took a different tasting treat, and remained calm as Wing pressed the toy into his valve. Wing removed his hand and licked his fingertips. “Close up,” He said into Drift’s audio. 

Drift obeyed, array closing with the toy buried inside his valve. He slowly finished chewing the second treat.

Wing took out a remote from his subspace. “Want to try the lowest setting?”

“As long as we don’t get caught, you’re allowed to have me do anything,” Drift replied. 

Smiling, Wing turned the setting to low, then picked up a treat and hummed as he ate it. 

The vibration deep inside Drift’s valve stimulated his sensor nodes, and he shifted his hips. It felt strange, but nice. 

“There are few things more beautiful in this world than a mech in the throes of pleasure, wouldn’t you say?” Wing asked. 

Drift nodded, shifting slightly. 

Wing took another treat and pressed it to Drift’s lips. “Zetca assured me you can overload several times,” he whispered into his audio. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” Drift replied. “I also have a place we can go after this.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Wing replied. He then touched the remote, upping the level to medium. 

Drift started to feel heat creep through his array. It felt intense, and he took the last treat, wanting something in his mouth to stop him from whimpering. He chewed it slowly, optics darkening. 

The waiter returned. “Would either If you like something else?” 

It took all of Drift’s self control not to make a sound. 

“I think another tray of this kind would be nice,” Wing replied as he pointed to the one on the right. 

“Of course.” The waiter picked up the empty trays and left. 

“You’re exquisite,” Wing said, leaning over and nuzzling Drift’s helm fin. “I can’t wait to experience you.” He touched the remote again, turning it to high. 

It was maddening, Drift started to tremble despite his best efforts at controlling himself. 

The waiter returned setting another full tray down. “Will there be anything else?”

“I think we’re all set. Thank you,” Wing replied. 

The moment the waiter turned away, Drift gasped, body shuddering as he overloaded hard. Wing pet Drift’s body, enthralled with the sight of him overloading in public. He then tapped the remote, turning it off. 

Drift breathed hard, letting the heat dispel from his core. 

“Incredible,” Wing said. “I hope the place we’re going will be this thrilling.”

Relieved that the vibrating had stopped, Drift smiled at the beautiful flier. “It’s public. But we shouldn’t get caught. Well, hopefully.”

“I’m  _ so _ excited.” Wing ate another treat, smiling brightly at Drift. 

They finished the second tray of treats and Wing paid the bill. Once they were outside, Wing turned the toy on again at its lowest setting. 

The sensation within his valve made it hard to walk straight, but he did his best to move smoothly as he led Wing toward the crystal gardens. They chatted as they strolled until they were deep inside the area with the tallest crystals. 

“This is a lovely location,” Wing said, touching one of the bluish crystals. 

Drift looked around, making sure they were alone. Then he took Wing’s hand and pulled him into one of the crystal growth groves. “Right next to the path, but obscured by the crystal. How is this?”

Wing placed a hand on Drift’s hip. “It’s perfect.” He reached into his subspace, taking out the remote. “Are you ready to put your true beauty on display for me again?”

Drift nodded. 

“Medium it is,” Wing replied, changing the level. 

The deep vibrations sent waves of pleasure singing through his array. Drift shivered and moaned softly. 

Footfall and the chatter of mechs echoed nearby. The sound got louder as they walked toward the crystal. 

Wing turned the toy to its highest level. 

Drift took shaky breaths, trying to stay quiet as his entire array blossomed with pleasure. Wing pulled Drift flush to his body, and mouthed a helm fin. 

“Such beauty,” Wing whispered. 

As the mechs walked past them on the path, Drift overloaded again. It was just as intense as the first time. He shuddered against Wing, burying his face in Wing’s neck to help mute his cry of pleasure. 

The sound of the mechs got quieter as they walked away. 

Wing turned off the toy, and nuzzled Drift’s helm. “That was amazing.” He rubbed Drift’s closed cover. “Open again?”

Drift held fast to Wing, feeling unsteady on his feet as he opened his array. 

Wing pulled on the loop, removing the toy. He then licked the surface, humming. “My array is burning. Are you ready for more? Or would you like a break?”

“I’m ready,” Drift replied. He ran his hands over Wing’s ornate chestplate. 

“Reach under my hip skirting,” Wing dared Drift with a grin. 

Drift pushed aside a piece of the skirting and his hand touched a very erect spike. “You’re array has been open the whole time?”

Wing grinned. “Turn for me,” he said, shifting Drift so his back was to him. “And yes. We have so many rules in the Crystal City. Coming here, I want to break rules and do everything I’m not supposed to.” He rubbed Drift’s valve opening with his spike. “Be as indulgent and inappropriate as I want.” 

Drift chuckled a bit at that. “Well, I’m here to indulge you.”

Wing thrust upward, spike spreading Drift open in a sharp jab. “You’re exquisite and I’m impressed at how you’ve handled yourself.” He wrapped both arms around Drift and started to thrust hard at an upward angle. 

“This is more— fun than— I thought,” Drift replied, voice interrupted with the thrusts. 

Voices echoed not too far away, different mechs on the nearby trail. They both stayed quiet, but Wing didn’t stop. He mouthed a helm fin and thrust deeply, hands roaming over Drift’s front. 

The voices got closer. 

“Whoa look at this blue one. It’s huge!”

“Yeah. I think it’s part of a grove. There are two more right behind.”

Drift covered his own mouth, muffling a whimper as pleasure throbbed throughout his array. He hadn’t had time to get a good look, but he felt it now, Wing’s spike had a flared head and it felt incredible.

“I don’t think we can go off the trail.”

“Why not?”

Drift’s spark started pulsing faster. Would they be caught? Wing thrust faster, obviously turned on by the prospect. 

“There’s a sign right there. Says no going off the trail.”

“Alright.”

Their voices faded as they walked past. 

“By Primus’ Light, that was exhilarating,” Wing said into Drift’s audio. 

“I can’t…” Drift whispered as he removed his hand from his mouth. 

“Overload.  _ Please _ . I want to feel your pleasure,” Wing replied in a hushed voice against Drift’s audio. 

Unable to hold back, Drift did as he asked, body shuddering hard as another overload exploded within his array. He whimpered and cried softly, trying to keep himself quiet as he was overcome with deep pleasure. 

Wing whined, pressing deep and shivering as he hugged Drift almost too tightly. Fluid flooded Drift’s valve, drawing another quiet whimper from his vocalizer. Wing eventually stopped shivering and they stood there, hidden but in the open, both reeling from their overloads as he held Drift close. 

“I’ve done this with others, but none overloaded like this with me.” Wing nuzzled Drift’s helm. “I could do this for hours with you…”

Turning his head to look at Wing, Drift half-smiled. “You wanna try the other spot I was considering?”

Wing’s optics shined brightly with excitement. “Yes.”

“Gotta let go,” Drift said, chuckling. 

“Of course,” Wing said, letting go of Drift and withdrawing. 

Knowing the thrill was to be in public, Drift left his array open as he took Wing’s hand and led him back to the trail. They walked together toward another section of the garden. Footfall ahead meant they’d pass other mechs. Wing quickly turned Drift toward him, hugging him close to conceal his exposed array and began to kiss and nuzzle his helm and neck as some mechs passed by them. 

Once they were out of sight, Wing pulled back and looked Drift deep in the optics. “I wish that third rule could be broken.”

Drift coyly smiled. “Those are the only rules that matter right now.” 

Wing nodded. 

Continuing down the trail to a lower area, crystals grew overhead on a large trellis. There were benches at various points and a circular trail in the middle. Drift led Wing to a corner where there was a bench that was obscured by some of the bases of the crystals that were growing overhead. 

“You scouted these places ahead for me?” Wing asked, obviously impressed.

“Yep,” Drift replied with a smile. 

Wing took a seat and pat his leg. “Facing me this time. I’d like to see you overload one more time.”

Drift obliged, straddling Wing’s lap, and sinking down over his erect spike. He grasped Wing’s shoulders and began to ride his very nice spike. 

Wing touched all over Drift’s frame, fingers following the shapes of his plating and even lightly touching his spike. Groaning softly, Wing’s optics darkened. He was obviously enjoying this, and the way his spike was throbbing inside Drift meant he was close.

Slowing his pace, Drift gyrated his hips. Wing shivered and whined. 

Voices of the mechs that almost caught them earlier echoed off the walls of the crystals. 

“Don’t stop,” Wing whispered. 

Drift continued to roll his hips, and Wing moaned softly. 

“What’s over here?”

Wing grabbed Drift, hugging him tightly to his chest. His one arm wrapped around lower to hide the view of their connected arrays. 

A mech peered around the crystal seeing the two of them. Drift looked right at him as Wing made a show of mouthing and kissing Drift’s neck and face.

“Oh, Sorry!” The mech smiled as he backed away from the corner and disappeared from sight. “There’s a couple over there making out,” he said to his friend. Followed by giggling.

Wing looked into Drift’s face. “Hold onto my shoulders.” 

Drift grasped onto Wing, and the flier scooted to the edge of the bench and held Drift by the aft, taking over and thrusting deeply. 

The deep penetration with his spike’s flared head was almost as incredible as the ridges of Tracks’ spike. It set off nodes buried deep, and Drift moaned despite himself. 

“Lovely,” Wing crooned, his pace increasing. 

Drift finally tipped over the edge and opened his mouth in a silent cry as he overloaded hard, shuddering with waves of pleasure. Wing quickly followed, whining softly as he held Drift down over his spike. Once he finished, he scooted back, and hugged Drift close. They both softly panted to help cool their systems. 

“I’m impressed. Four beautiful overloads for me to enjoy,” Wing said, affectionately kissing Drift’s cheek. “Come back with me to the Crystal City. We could spend our days just indulging in one another.”

Drift was so careful with his regular clients when it came to emotional attachments. He hadn’t expected a proposal like this just from one paid date. He leaned back to look Wing in the optics. “You know I can’t. But next time you’re here, I’ll find us some exciting places to go.”

Wing smiled. “You’re as ephemeral as the wind, aren’t you? Right here now, but impossible to capture and take with me.”

That was the most poetic thing anyone had said to him before. “I suppose so.”

Carefully lifting Drift off his spike, Wing pulled a cloth from subspace and kindly cleaned Drift’s messy valve. Mostly presentable again, Drift closed up. 

Wing traded the dirty cloth for a card with 500 credits. “You deserve a tip ten times this, but unfortunately this is all I have on me.”

Drift graciously took it. “This is very generous. Thank you.”

“Promise me that next time I’m here, you’ll be available,” Wing said. 

“I promise,” Drift replied.


	6. A “Real” Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift has a drink and a bit more with Hot Rod, but then his evening takes an unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember, this is a Dratchet fic...

The energon bar was raucous. Music played loudly, mechs danced in one area, others played on the game tables.

Drift wandered in and looked around. He spotted the red mech with a flame paint job at a high table. He walked over and pulled out the chair next to Hot Rod’s. “This seat taken?”

“Yeah, it’s meant for this hot mech I literally ran into the other day,” Hot Rod teased. “Yeah, Sit!”

Drift smiled and sat. A waiter came over to their table and Drift excitedly ordered a high grade. He hadn’t had any in weeks due to his job requirements. But this was his day off, and he was on a real date for once.

Hot Rod grinned at Drift. “How did your appointment go? I didn’t mess it up did I?”

Drift was instantly reminded of his public overloading session with Wing. “Nope. Everything went really well.”

“Oh good.” Hot Rod looked relieved.

The waiter set Drift’s drink down. He immediately took a long sip. “So what is it you do?” Drift asked.

Hot Rod sipped his drink. “I’m finishing up training. I got into the program for the government foreign agency. I’ll get to travel around Cybertron a bunch and even go on some interstellar missions.”

“Wow, that sounds exciting,” Drift replied.

“Yeah. My first mission will be in Praxus. It’s part of the training program, but I’m looking forward to it.” Hot Rod grinned. “How about you? What do you do?”

Drift swallowed the sip he’d taken. He’d anticipated this, and decided before he came that he’d have to lie. “I’m part of this agency. I meet out of town mechs and take them on personal tours.”

“That sounds like fun,” Hot Rod replied with bright optics.

“It is,” Drift replied. He felt a little guilty that he was lying, but he knew this date would be over before it started if he was honest.

They chatted for a while, which was nice. Drift wasn’t used to talking and drinking and being “normal”. He’d spent so long barely surviving, it almost felt unreal.

Once they finished their drinks, Hot Rod hopped off his stool. “Let’s go dance.” He offered his hand to Drift.

Drift happily followed him to the dance floor. They danced close, and Hot Rod stole touches. Considering how most of his clients didn’t think twice about touching him, Drift found it pretty cute. When the music slowed a bit, Hot Rod put his arms around him and leaned in, ghosting his lips against Drift’s. His spark pulsed faster, and he pressed their lips flush for a real kiss.

Hot Rod hugged Drift tightly as the kiss soon turned more passionate. After it broke, Hot Rod gazed with an eager look in his optics. “You wanna come back to my place?”

Drift interfaced for a living, but this was about more than his body. This mech wanted to be with him and not for a price which was new and thrilling for Drift. “I do.”

“Awesome.” Hot Rod grinned.

Drift was tipsy from the drinks at the bar, and they laughed and stole touches as they walked to Hot Rod’s apartment. The minute they walked in, Hot Rod kissed him deeply. Drift returned the kiss, hands tracing the edges of Hot Rod’s chestplate. The young mech hummed approvingly, then took Drift’s hands, pulling him to his berthroom.

They resumed kissing, and Drift soon found himself lying on the berth with Hot Rod next to him, groping his frame. Hot Rod’s hand moved down, cupping Drift’s array cover.

“Is this okay?” Hot Rod asked.

“Absolutely,” Drift replied, array cover opening.

Hot Rod looked down and gently touched Drift’s spike. “So every part of you is gorgeous, hm?”

Drift smiled and rubbed Hot Rod’s cover. “Your turn.”

Hot Rod let his cover open and Drift’s optics brightened. He had a ribbed spike with a flared head, just like Tracks. Was he a noble? Drift couldn’t ask. He didn’t want to explain how he’d recognized Hot Rod’s sparkline.

Drift touched Hot Rod’s spike and smiled. “You’re nicely equipped.”

Hot Rod grinned. He shifted his hips closer and took hold of both their spikes, squeezing them together. Drift groaned at the sensation. Hot Rod kissed him again.

“So who spikes who?” Hot Rod asked, mouthing Drift’s jawline.

“You spike me,” Drift replied, parting his legs in invitation.

Hot Rod moved into position and gazed lustfully into Drift’s optics. “You’re seriously the prettiest mech I’ve ever seen.”

Drift’s face heated. “And you’re a handsome mech.”

Hot Rod grinned. “I know,” he said, laughing.

Drift playfully punched him in the shoulder. “Stop stalling. I want to feel that nice spike of yours.”

Hot Rod’s optics brightened and then he grinned, rolling his hips forward. He moaned as he slid deep into Drift’s valve. “Frag, you feel incredible…”

Running his hands down Hot Rod’s chest, Drift smiled.

The flare of his spike head and the ribbing sliding in and out, made Drift shiver. Hot Rod was clearly not too experienced, but his lovely spike more than made up for it.

Hot Rod was soon thrusting fast, moaning. Drift’s valve throbbed, and he put his hands on Hot Rod’s aft to encourage him to thrust deeper. Their bodies moved in unison and Drift was lost in the heady pleasure of the moment. He shuddered and overloaded with a loud cry. Hot Rod thrusted faster and followed quickly, roaring as he pressed to the hilt.

Drift shivered at the feeling of fluid filling him. He pet Hot Rod’s back affectionately as he laid limply over top of Drift.

“That was amazing,” Hot Rod said, optics dimmed as he relaxed.

“It was,” Drift replied.

They laid together in comfortable silence for a while. Eventually Hot Rod moved and flopped next to Drift and hugged himself against his side. “You wanna stay the night?”

Drift gently touched Hot Rod’s face. “I appreciate the offer. But I need to get a fresh wax first thing tomorrow.”

Hot Rod leaned in to kiss Drift. “Wanna go out again sometime?”

Drift nodded. “I’d like that.”

They kissed some more before Drift managed to extricate himself from the berth. He quickly cleaned up in the washrack and headed to the the front door.

Hot Rod met him there and made sure to steal one last kiss. “See you soon,” he said grinning.

“See you,” Drift replied with a shy smile.

Drift left the apartment and strolled down the block, feeling happy. Really happy. It had been a great date, and he’d enjoyed being able to actually kiss someone for a change.

Lost in his thoughts, Drift started to cross the main road toward his new apartment downcity. Voices behind him barely registered. He was too busy replaying the evening in his mind to notice much around him.

“I said, hey!”

Drift turned to see three mechs surrounding him from behind.

“Walking alone at night around here? You should know better,” said one.

Frowning, Drift quickly assessed them. Two mechs he could probably fight. But three? And one was pretty large. “What do you want?”

“You got any credits?” The first one asked.

“I don’t,” Drift lied.

“A pretty, waxed up mech like you has no credits?” Another asked, stepping closer.

“If I did, I wouldn’t hand them over to a bunch of afts like you,” Drift replied.

One came toward him, and tried to grab his arm. He jerked away, but another grabbed his helm fin and bent it. He yelped, and the pain forced him to his knees.

“Hey, I’ve seen this mech before. He’s from Club Gamma. One of the workers.”

“Then I say we at least have some fun,” said the big one, stepping up and opening his panel.

The other two laughed. One jerked Drift’s head up. “Suck on my friend here. Or I’ll bend the other one.”

Drift frowned, and then obeyed, opening his mouth. The large mech shoved his thick spike down Drift’s mouth and intake. The mech groaned, rocking on his feet and fragging Drift’s mouth.

“Alright you fragging pieces of scrap. I’ve called the enforcers. Let that mech go. Now,” bellowed a voice from just behind the three.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

“Oh slag!”

“Let’s get outta here!”

The three scattered, and Drift sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth. He looked up at the mech that scared them off. To his shock, it was the medic that had saved his life.

“Hello kid.”

“You’re Ratchet, right?”

“I thought you were gonna stay outta trouble,” Ratchet said, offering his hand to Drift.

“I have! I got a job, and just moved into an apartment. I turned my life around because of you,” Drift said. He took the medic’s hand and got to his feet. This was not how he wanted to meet him again.

Ratchet smiled, looking at the damaged helm fin. “I’m glad to hear it. You gotta pay more attention walking around by yourself at night, though.”

“I know. I got distracted,” Drift replied, frowning. “The sirens stopped.”

Ratchet looked around. “I was bluffing. Worked pretty well.” He chuckled. “My place is close. Let’s head over there and I’ll fix you up,” Ratchet said.

Drift shyly lowered his head. “You’ve done so much for me. I’ll go to a medical center. You don’t need—“

“Hey, I’m a medic. You can’t show up to your job tomorrow with a bent helm fin, right?” Ratchet asked.

Drift looked up at him. “No. I can’t.”

“Come on,” Ratchet said, hooking his arm around Drift’s.

“Okay,” Drift agreed.

…

Drift sat still on a large, soft couch, optics looking around Ratchet’s apartment while the medic examined the damage to his helm fin. There were awards on the wall, and holoframes with images of him and what Drift assumed were his friends on a set of shelves.

“This is gonna hurt, but I gotta straighten it. Then I’ll apply a sensor-numbing gel. You ready?” Ratchet asked.

Drift glanced up at him. “Ready.”

Ratchet put both his hands on the helm fin, and moved it back into position. Drift gasped at the pain, but kept still.

“Sorry. I know it’s sensitive,” Ratchet replied, sympathetically. He opened a container and began to apply gel to the helm fin.

“It’s fine.” Drift hadn’t wanted to see Ratchet again like this. He felt awful. How had such a nice evening turned to such slag? He should've known better and paid attention walking through that area.

Once Ratchet finished, he sat on the low table right in front of Drift. “You wanna talk about it? What that mech was doing to you when I walked up?”

Drift frowned. “I’ve been forced to do a lot worse. It’s fine.”

Ratchet was quiet for a moment. “Then tell me about this job. You end up doing that frame sharing thing?”

Hugging his middle, Drift shook his head. “You know, I should head home.” He started to stand up, but Ratchet grabbed his hand.

“You almost died on my table. I reconstructed your processor and repaired the damage from the beating you took. I care. In fact I’ve been wondering what happened to you. Please don’t run off,” Ratchet said.

Drift sat back down. “I’ve thought about you a lot, too.” He looked at their linked hands. “This wasn’t how I’d hoped we meet again.”

“Life is unpredictable,” Ratchet replied. “And you do look great. So tell me about your new life.”

Drift smiled a little. It made him happy to know Ratchet had thought about him. He considered lying like he’d done earlier with Hot Rod. But looking into the medic’s optics, seeing how genuine he seemed, Drift couldn’t lie.

“I went to one of those clubs. The ones not too far from here in the red district. I got a job there, and was working for about a month in one if the rooms,” Drift started to explain. “Then one day the owner called me into his office. He said that he sold my contract to another mech and I had to report to a medical enhancement center.” Drift couldn’t look Ratchet in the optic, so he stared at their hands. “I went in and they upgraded my plating and gave me several upgrades to my array and software. Then I went to meet the mech that bought the contract. Turns out he runs a high-end pleasure mech business. He gave me all the credits he paid for me. And I’ve been working as an agent for him since.”

Ratchet gently squeezed Drift’s hand. “Do you enjoy your work?”

Drift looked up at Ratchet. “I do. I’m good at it. I get paid well. My boss is very careful with me.”

Ratchet smiled. “Good. You deserve a great life, you know.”

“You aren’t disappointed?” Drift asked.

“Why? Because you’re a pleasure mech? That slag doesn’t bother me. As long as you aren’t being abused,” Ratchet replied. “You’ve come a long way in a few months.”

Drift smiled a little. “It’s all because of you.”

“Nah. You helped yourself.” Ratchet smiled warmly, gently squeezing Drift’s hand.

“Thanks for helping me again tonight,” Drift replied.

“Anytime.” Ratchet gently touched Drift’s helm fin. “Does it hurt?”

Dimming his optics a little, Drift shook his head.

“I can’t have you walking home by yourself through that area. How about you stay here the rest of the night? My berth is yours,” Ratchet said, standing up.

“I can’t take your berth. This couch is fine. I mean, if you really don’t mind me staying,” Drift replied.

Ratchet huffed at Drift. “Don’t be stupid. Come on.”

Drift got up and let Ratchet lead him to the berthroom. He sat on the berth and when Ratchet tried to let go of his hand, he held on tightly. “We can share. Can’t we?”

Ratchet looked genuinely surprised for a moment. “I suppose we could.”

They settled in, lying side by side. Drift didn’t realize how tired he was until he’d laid down. He almost instantly started to doze off.

It had been an emotional roller coaster of an evening. And now here he was next to the mech that had changed his life.

Life certainly was unpredictable.

…

Drift’s internal alarm woke him. He lit his optics, and was confused for a moment. He was warm and curled up with a mech. Suddenly it all came flooding back, and he turned his head, looking up. Ratchet had Drift wrapped up in his large arms and he felt safe and protected. A smile spread across his lips.

He had a waxing appointment soon and a client later, but didn’t want to move. This was really nice. Maybe he was desperate for affection? Or maybe it felt so good because it was Ratchet? Afterall, Hot Rod wanted him to stay, but it felt nothing like this when they were lying together.

Ratchet grumbled, then lit his optics, looking down at Drift in his grasp. “I, ah…”

Drift grinned. “Good morning.”

Letting go of Drift, Ratchet looked embarrassed. “I must’ve not realized… Sorry...”

“Don’t be.” Drift gazed fondly at Ratchet, realizing he felt a very real attraction to him.

Ratchet half-smiled. “How’s the helm fin?” He asked, touching it lightly.

Drift hissed. “Sore,” he admitted.

“More sensor-numbing gel, then,” Ratchet replied.

“I need to get to an appointment for a full wax,” Drift said, pushing to sit up.

Ratchet sat up, too. He rubbed his face with one hand. “I have rotation in the medical center in an hour. I’ll give you some gel to take with you.”

“I owe you,” Drift replied.

“Don’t worry about it.” Ratchet looked at Drift and smiled.

They both got up. Ratchet prepped a small tube of the gel. He then applied a fresh layer of the gel to Drift’s helm fin, which helped relieve the pain. His fingers were deft and gentle. Drift dimmed his optics at the touches. When he was done, he gave Drift the tube.

“Every couple hours, put a fresh layer on the surface,” Ratchet directed.

“Thank you,” Drift replied.

“Guess we should get going, hm?” Ratchet said.

“Guess so.”

They exited the apartment and went down the stairs and out into the street. In the light of day, Drift looked up at Ratchet. His spark actually started pulsing faster.

“Take care, okay?” Ratchet said, patting Drift’s shoulder.

Drift didn’t want this to be it. For them to part ways and not see eachother again. “Ratchet, um, would you let me get you a drink or something sometime? As a thank you?”

Ratchet stared at him for a moment that felt like an eternity. “You don’t owe me, you know,” he finally said.

Of course Ratchet wouldn’t want to go out with a pleasure mech. There’s a reason he’d lied to Hot Rod the night before. “If you decide you want to, how about you message me?” He took out his communicator, offering it to Ratchet to trade numbers.

Getting his out, Ratchet half-smiled and they tapped to trade numbers. “Alright. I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

Drift couldn’t help but smile at that. “Great. Let me know. It’s the least I can do.”

Ratchet reached up, cupping Drift’s cheek. “In the meantime, stay outta trouble, hm?”

Drift nodded. “I promise.”


	7. Megatron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift discovers Megatron isn’t quite as he seems.

Most of Drift’s appointments were afternoon or evenings. This one was a late night rendezvous. Zetca had warned him to keep his work communicator on hand just in case, but assured him this client had used the service before without any issues. Still, Drift was out of his comfort zone. 

The grimy, industrial area near the docks was not exactly the nicest place to walk in the dark of night. 

His unease as he walked reminded him of the bad area where he’d run into Ratchet. It had been a month and no word from the medic. The rejection stung, more than he wanted to admit to himself. He’d started seeing Hot Rod more often to try and fill the ache in his spark but it was just a distraction for Drift. They’d ‘face and constantly kiss, but Drift’s spark didn’t stir like it had around Ratchet that night.

Mechs suddenly appeared on the street around him. The doors to a large warehouse ahead had opened and they were pouring out after a gladiator fight. He darted between the oncoming flow of semi-drunk mechs talking about the fight. 

Reaching the warehouse, he entered as others exited. His contact was a mech named Soundwave. Standing on the edge of the arena area, he tried to spot the mech he’d seen in the file. 

“You are Drift?” Said a monotone voice. 

Drift spun around, and turned his head upward. The mech was quite tall. “Soundwave?”

“Yes. Please come with me.” Soundwave walked away and Drift followed. 

They left the arena area and went down a set of stairs. Beneath the fighting area was a corridor. Drift didn’t like how far he was being taken from an easy exit. But he trusted Zetca to not put him in danger. 

At the end of the corridor, Soundwave tapped a code into a panel beside a closed doorway. The door slid open to reveal a large open area that was obviously a home. There was a seating area, a berth area, a kitchenette, and a washrack with glass walls which were currently steamed up. 

“Have a seat. Megatron will emerge from the washrack shortly,” Soundwave said, gesturing to the seating area of several sofas. 

Drift nodded and sat down. 

Soundwave stood nearby and folded his hands behind his back. 

This was a bit awkward, but Drift tried not to show his discomfort. After a couple very long minutes, the glass door to the washrack opened and a huge mech stepped out. 

Drift had been with large mechs, but Megatron had hulking armor in addition to his large size. He could crush Drift if he wanted to. 

“You must be my reward,” Megatron said as he walked over and sat on an opposing sofa. 

“I suppose I am,” Drift replied. 

Megatron’s gaze raked over Drift. “Soundwave, you may leave us.”

Soundwave bowed his head, then left. 

“Your name’s Drift?” Megatron asked. 

“Yeah.” Drift projected a calm exterior, despite feeling panicked at the prospect of being trapped deep inside this warehouse complex with a mech that could snap him in half if he wanted to. “If it’s alright, I need to go over the rules.”

“Of course,” Megatron replied, gesturing to Drift. 

“Rule one: no harming me,” Drift said, hoping this mech would take that rule seriously. 

“I’ve harmed enough for the evening,” Megatron joked. “You’re safe. Don’t worry.”

Drift nervously smiled. “Rule two: if either of us feel uncomfortable the encounter ends.”

Megatron nodded. “Agreed.”

“And rule three: no kissing on the mouth,” Drift finished explaining. 

“I will abide all the rules,” Megatron replied. 

“I didn’t see any special requests in your file, so would you like to tell me what you’re interested in doing?” Drift asked. 

Megatron smiled, leaning back against the sofa and stretching his large arms out. “After I win a tournament I like to indulge. Smaller mechs your size are my preferred type.”

Drift nodded. “Did you have anything specific in mind? Or should I start with some foreplay?”

Megatron chuckled, his deep voice rumbling in is chest. “You aren’t afraid of me?”

“Should I be?” Drift responded with a touch of bravado to his tone.

“Most of the mechs Zetca has sent have taken one look at me and started backing toward the door,” Megatron replied.

Taking that as a challenge, Drift stood up and crossed over to Megatron, standing right in front of him. “I’m here to do what you’d like. Just tell me what that is.” 

Megatron sat forward, and trailed his large fingers over Drift’s body. “You’re lovely. Prettier than the others he’s sent.” Despite his large hands, he was delicate with his touches. “Do you enjoy your job?”

Drift nodded. “I do, actually.” 

“I was told you can overload multiple times. Is that true?” Megatron asked, fingers tracing the edges of Drift’s array cover. 

“Yep.” Drift could tell this mech probably had something specific in mind, but he wasn’t ready to reveal it. 

Megatron rubbed his fingers over the closed cover. “Let me see, hm?”

Drift opened his array, revealing his spike and exposing his valve. Megatron rubbed the sensitive platelets with his forefinger, then dipped his large finger inside his valve. 

“Modded, correct?” Megatron asked, stroking the lining. 

“Yes,” Drift confirmed. 

Removing his finger, Megatron leaned back on the sofa and patted his lap. “Come, sit sideways and spread your legs for me.”

Drift did as he was asked and sat in his lap, but Megatron shifted him, essentially cradling him in one arm. Drift rested his helm against Megatron’s shoulder, curious about the position he was held in. 

Megatron pushed Drift’s legs apart. He began to finger his valve again, dipping one then two fingers inside and pumping them in and out. 

“My spike is large, and modded. I need your valve ready so I don’t violate the first rule,” Megatron explained, adding a third finger. 

Drift nodded his understanding, and spread his legs apart more. Megatron used the hand of the arm cradling Drift to hold his outer leg open wide by his upper thigh. 

“Have you ever had someone put their hand inside your valve?” Megatron asked. 

“No,” Drift replied. “Is that what you’d like to do?”

Megatron nodded. “I’ll go slow. If it hurts, we’ll stop. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Drift replied, genuinely curious how it might feel. He’d taken large spikes plenty of times, but figured Megatron’s must be massive if he wanted to put his whole hand inside his valve first. 

Soon Megatron had four fingers stretching Drift’s valve. He hadn’t needed the mod or software for his valve before now, but as he was pushed to his normal limits he initiated the sequences to adjust accordingly. 

Megatron looked pleased as he added his thumb to his folded fingers making a cone shape and slid them all in. 

Drift shivered, his valve slick now and sending waves of pleasure through his array. 

“You’re doing very well,” Megatron said, his low voice rumbling. “Now, for the whole hand…” He pushed his fingers in, past his knuckles. 

Drift groaned, his valve straining and stretching. 

Megatron then curled his fingers into a fist shape inside Drift’s valve. 

Drift gasped softly at how full he was. 

Megatron straightened his fingers and then curled them again. He repeated the deep stretch several times. 

Drift shivered and whimpered. 

“Does it hurt?” Megatron checked, pausing with his fingers straightened.

Unable to speak, Drift shook his head. On the contrary, he was on the verge of overloading. 

Megatron continued, now focused on Drift’s face, making a fist and unmaking it.

Drift trembled, a deep overload resonating in his array. He cried out and arched in Megatron’s arm, shuddering as pleasure overwhelmed his senses. Once the sensation passed, he slumped against Megatron, and panted softly. 

Megatron straightened his fingers and slowly pulled out. He then inspected Drift’s valve, fingering around the edges. “You have a good gape going.” He inserted his fingers, stretching the entrance more. 

The sound of Megatron’s array opening drew Drift’s attention. The gladiator’s spike was erect and sure enough  _ very _ large. It had a spiral mod running up the shaft that ended at the head. Looking at the size, no wonder Megatron wanted his valve to stretch so much. 

He sent additional commands to keep his valve stretched and ready. 

“Would you mind if I used a lubricant?” Megatron asked. 

For a mech who crushed others in gladiator fights, he was surprisingly accommodating and caring. “Not at all,” Drift replied. 

Pulling a tube from subspace, Megatron flicked the top open with his thumb and drizzled some on his spike. 

The tube momentarily reminded Drift of Ratchet. His spark ached a little at the thought, and he quickly shoved his personal feelings aside. He was here to pleasure Megatron, not pity his own sad life. 

“Here,” Megatron said, handing the tube to Drift. “Put some on my fingers.”

Drift drizzled the lubricant across Megatron’s large fingers and closed the lid. Megatron spread it evenly between them before dipping them back into Drift’s valve and spreading it inside him. He pumped his fingers in and out again, making sure Drift’s valve gaped properly. 

Satisfied Drift was ready, Megatron leaned back against the sofa and pat his chest. “Come, lay over top of me.”

Drift tossed the tube aside and shifted, straddling Megatron’s hips above his large spike. Megatron cupped Drift’s aft with one hand. 

“I will control the pace and depth,” Megatron said, using his fingers to guide the head of his spike to Drift’s wide open valve. 

Curling his upper body up against Megatron’s broad chest, he nodded. 

“If it becomes too much, speak up.” Megatron lifted his hips, his massive spike slowly filling Drift’s valve to capacity. 

Drift moaned as the spirals of the mod rubbed the nodes lining his valve while the lubricant added a tingling sensation. It felt incredible. 

“Good?” Megatron asked, amusement coloring his voice. 

Drift nodded. “Really good.” 

Megatron began to piston his hips,  _ very _ slowly. He’d pull almost completely out then slide his massive spike right back in. He kept one hand cupping Drift’s aft to help control his thrusts, and gently pet the middle of his back with his other hand. 

“You’re doing very well,” Megatron said, nuzzling a helm fin. 

This mech could tear his valve lining or crush his plating with his massive hands, but instead he was incredibly tender. He kept the pace slow and steady while nuzzling Drift’s helm and rubbing his back. 

After a few minutes the build up of friction and stimulation to his deepest nodes sent Drift over the edge. He cried out, overloading again as he grasped at Megatron’s chestplate. 

Megatron stilled, buried deep, clearly enjoying the spasms of Drift’s valve. He hummed approvingly and reached up to pet Drift’s cheek. “Very nice,” he said. 

Drift felt Megatron resume this languid pace and groaned in response. 

Time ticked away. The cycle continued; Megatron slowly thrusting, Drift driven to overload after overload, gentle petting and soft words of encouragement each time he did. Megatron would occasionally mouth and nuzzle Drift’s helm affectionately. 

This mech might actually frag him into stasis if he wasn’t careful. These overloads were so deep within his array, he felt like he’d come ten times already and it had only been three? Five? Drift was losing count.

Checking his internal chronometer, Drift noted they’d been interfacing like this for almost an hour. He hoped Megatron would overload soon…

As if the gladiator heard his thoughts, the pace changed. The thrusts were faster, and deep as Drift’s valve would allow. Megatron wrapped his free arm around Drift, holding him tight to his body. Drift felt another charge about to disperse and make him overload again. He whimpered, tired and unable to do anything but take the large spike impaling him over and over. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Megatron said, his voice thick with desire. “Once more,” he said feeling Drift trembling on the edge. 

Drift sharply cried again, mouth open wide as he obeyed the command. This time he felt the thick spike jerk inside him. Pleasure overwhelmed his senses from the pumps of hot fluid flooding his valve melding with the sensation of his own overload. It was the most intense overload yet.

Relighting his optics, Drift didn’t remember passing out. His systems were lagging and vision hazy. He managed to focus on Megatron, once again cradling him in one arm against his chest. 

“You need fuel.” Megatron pressed a glass of enriched energon to Drift’s lips and he drank it down greedily. 

Almost immediately his system lag cleared and he cycled his optics, able to better focus. “Is that a medical grade energon?” Drift asked. 

“Yes,” Megatron replied. He gently tipped Drift’s face up to look him in the optics. “You didn’t warn me you were near stasis.”

“I got carried away, I guess,” Drift replied. 

Megatron smiled. “Here. Have some more.” He gave Drift a second glass he had beside him. 

Drift happily held it in both hands and gulped down the contents. 

Lightly running his fingers over Drift’s hip and outer thigh, Megatron looked very pleased. “I haven’t overloaded with a mech your size in a long time. Most cannot handle it.”

“You don’t like mechs your size?” Drift asked, curiously. 

“I required the mod in order to enjoy interfacing with larger mechs. I prefer what we just did, though. There is something truly cathartic about reaching a moment of release after a slow build up. Feeling you overload so many times made it that much more enjoyable.” Megatron pet Drift’s side and the up his chest. 

“That was a first for me,” Drift admitted, finishing the rest of the fuel. 

Megatron took the empty glass and set it aside. Then resumed petting Drift’s frame. “I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

Drift smiled. “Totally worth passing out for.”

Megatron chuckled, the sound deep and reverberating through his massive chassis. “You are a very interesting mech.”

…

Walking home, Drift’s valve definitely ached. Even with the mod, it had been pretty intense. He didn’t want to worry Zetca, though. He would have to stop by a medical center tomorrow to be treated. Good thing he had tomorrow off.

Reaching his apartment, he went inside and flopped front first onto his berth, sighing. 

His optics focused on the tube of sensor-numbing gel on his berthside table. He frowned. Getting his clients to like him had been easy. Even being with Hot Rod was easy. So what had he done wrong when it came to Ratchet? Was it his job? His past? 

Rolling over, he offlined his optics. He’d probably never know. He needed to stop thinking about it. If only he knew how.


	8. Pharma?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected turn of events for Drift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short, the next chapter will more than make up for that.

After a nice day off spent visiting the Rust Sea with Hot Rod, Drift was home getting ready for his evening client. The lies about his job were getting harder to navigate with Hot Rod, though, especially his odd hours. He suspected he’d need to break things off soon since he highly doubted Hot Rod would approve of his line of work.

It was more than that, though. He liked Hot Rod but he still thought about Ratchet all the time. It was unfair to Hot Rod to stay with him while so hung up on someone else. Still, he enjoyed kissing Hot Rod a lot and his spike was really nice... Drift sighed softly. 

After a final check of his plating in the mirror, he headed out.

…

Entering a nice hotel in the uptown area, Drift made his way to the desk. He asked about Pharma’s room number and the clerk handed him a key card. He was apparently supposed to go up to the room and wait. 

Odd, but nothing that worried him. He proceeded upstairs and marveled at the room when he entered. There was a large elevated berth with a sheer curtain wrapped around it. A set of semi-circular couches with a table between them. At the center of the table sat a bucket of ice with a bubbling high grade in a beautiful bottle. Too bad he couldn’t have any. 

He wandered to the balcony door, sliding it open and stepping out. The curtains flapped behind him. The view of Iacon was mesmerizing. He leaned on the balcony and took in the view.

The door to the room opened. 

Drift was about to step back in when he heard two mechs talking. The file said nothing about two… He lifted the curtain edge and froze when he saw who was here. 

“What is all this?” Ratchet said, looking around the room. “I like you, Pharna, but I’m not fragging you.”

“No, there’s supposed to be someone here,” Pharma said, just as he spotted Drift at the balcony. “Come back in, won’t you?” he said walking toward the balcony.

Drift stepped back into the room, looking at Ratchet. 

Ratchet stared back at Drift. “Pharma, what’s going on?”

“Well, my good friend, I’m ruining my ability to book the best pleasure mechs through Zetca’s service by breaking one of the rules: No substitutions.” Pharma took Drift’s hand and gently guided him over to Ratchet. 

“Drift, I had no idea my stupid friend did this, I’m so sorry,” Ratchet started to apologize. 

“Drift, this idiot hasn’t stopped going on about you for weeks. I couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve watched him start and delete messages to you more times than I can count.” Pharma then looked at Ratchet. “Tell him why you're an aft and didn’t message him, or  _ I _ will.”

Ratchet scowled at Pharma. 

“Fine, I will.” Pharma looked at Drift. “He thinks he’s too old for you. That’s it. The only reason.”

Pharma placed Drift’s hand in Ratchet's. “Have a nice evening on me.”

Ratchet focused on their linked hands. 

“Night,” Pharma said as he turned and left. He paused to smirk at the two of them, then slipped out, door sliding shut behind him leaving them alone.

“Is that true?” Drift asked after a long moment of silence. “My age?”

“ _ My _ age,” Ratchet replied. “And yeah.”

“Not my job? Or the fact I lived on the streets most of my life? Or that I was a junkie?” Drift asked, optics getting glossy with held back tears.

Ratchet shook his head, and reached up with his free hand to gently touch Drift’s cheek. “None of that matters to me. As long as you’re happy and not dead.”

Drift frowned. “Was that supposed to be romantic?” 

“So maybe I had another reason not to send a message. I suck at this,” Ratchet replied, apologetically. 

Dimming his optics, Drift looked away. “You really would want to date me, even though I interface for a living?”

“You really don’t care I’m old enough to be your creator?” Ratchet countered. 

Drift looked back up at him. “That doesn’t bother me. I—I never felt like I did when we were recharging together. I’ve never felt like I really belonged anywhere, I just go in and out of other mech’s lives. But waking up with you, I felt like I was safe and had a place to be at that moment.” 

Ratchet half-smiled. “It was pretty nice waking up with you.” He lifted Drift’s hand to his lips, kissing the backs of his fingers. “And as long as you aren’t in danger, and you enjoy it, I don’t mind your profession.”

“I don’t know if I want to do it forever, but I’m really good at it,” Drift replied with a shrug. 

Ratchet smiled and pulled Drift into a hug. “Drift, would you have a drink with this old, grumpy mech?”

Drift smiled into Ratchet's plating, enjoying the strong arms around him. “It depends. Is this a paid date or a real date?”

“ _ Real _ ,” Ratchet declared, nuzzling the helm fin he’d fixed. 

“Then I want a drink,” Drift replied. He leaned back and tentatively brushed his lips against Ratchet’s. “But I want something else first…”

Ratchet seized on the opportunity, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. Drift practically melted. Kissing Hot Rod was fun, a novelty since he wasn’t allowed to kiss his clients.  _ This _ kiss sent a shiver down his spinal unit, and made his spark pulse faster.

The kiss broke, and Drift gazed deeply into Ratchet's gorgeous, aged blue optics. “One thing I should mention. I thought you didn’t want to see me, and kinda started dating someone.”

Ratchet frowned at that. “Oh. So, what does that mean?”

“It means as much as I want to jump your old joints, I don’t think it’s right until I talk to him,” Drift replied with a sad look. 

“Old joints, huh?” Ratchet smiled. “We have the room for the night. How about we drink that fancy high grade, kiss some more, and maybe recharge together. Would that be okay, you think?”  

Drift smiled brightly. “I don’t see why not.”

“Good.” Ratchet hugged Drift close, and stole another kiss.

All of Drift’s worry and self doubt was pushed away. He hadn’t imagined this connection he felt to Ratchet. This felt real and wonderful. But at the same time, he wasn’t looking forward to talking to Hot Rod. The last thing he’d intended to do was hurt him.

…

Waking, Drift lit his optics. He was curled up in Ratchet’s arms, snuggled in a very plush berth. He would need to remember to thank that friend of Ratchet’s for this. He kissed Ratchet’s throat, and nuzzled his shoulder. Ratchet grumbled, and hugged him tighter. Drift laughed quietly. 

He’d never had a home before. He had an apartment, but this right here felt like home. Drift ran his hands over Ratchet’s chest, and kissed along his collar fairing. 

Ratchet lit his optics, and glanced blearily down at Drift. “We drank that whole bottle, didn’t we?”

Drift nodded, but continued to mouth and kiss any piece of Ratchet he could reach. 

Ratchet ran his hand down Drift’s back, and rumbled approvingly at the affection. “Thought you wanted to wait.”

Sighing, Drift stopped. “I should. I’m just really attracted to you.”

Ratchet chuckled. “A pile of old joints, like me?”

“To be honest, I enjoy interfacing a lot.” Drift fingered Ratchet’s chest. “But I always have to be distant with clients. And my spark has never pulsed like this around anyone.”

“Your spark?” Ratchet asked, gently petting Drift’s helm fin. 

“Yeah. Around you, it pulses fast and hard.” Drift mouthed Ratchet’s throat. “Is that bad?”

“Not at all.” Ratchet moaned softly. “But I want to wait, too. Not just because you’re seeing someone else, but because it’s so soon.”

Drift paused. “You’re gonna make me wait?” 

Ratchet looked at Drift and nodded. “Just for a little bit. Clearly we have the attraction part down, but I wanna take you out properly for a few real dates. Get to know you better.”

Most mechs had simply wanted him. The fact Ratchet wanted to wait and spend time with him was incredibly romantic and deeply frustrating. 

“My next day off is the day after tomorrow.” Drift kissed Ratchet sweetly. “When is yours?”

“My hospital rotation ends at dark cycle. I’ll come by your place and pick you up after I get off,” Ratchet replied. 

Drift kissed him again. “I can’t wait.”


	9. Firestar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An usual client that Drift enjoys working with.

“There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?” Hot Rod asked, optics dimmed as he sadly frowned. 

Drift shook his head. “I’ve had a great time, but that’s all. We both deserve more.”

Hot Rod looked really disappointed. He took hold of Drift’s hand, squeezing it. “If you ever decide you wanna try again, don’t hesitate to message me. I’ll come running.”

Drift felt terribly guilty, but he knew this was for the best. He slid off the bar high seat, and kissed Hot Rod sweetly. “Find someone who’ll make your spark go crazy. I know he’s out there.” Giving Hot Rod’s hand a squeeze, he let go and walked away.

Stepping outside, he felt awful for hurting Hot Rod. But he needed to do this for himself. Take a chance with Ratchet. See where it went.

…

Drift descended a set of stairs. The loud, pounding music grew louder as he reached the bottom. He walked up to the bouncer in front, and flashed a iridescent card with the number “55” on it. 

“To the right,” the bouncer said, stepping aside to let him in. 

A mech stood at a counter to the right, and snatched the card from Drift’s grasp. “Through that door.” He pointed then pressed a stamp to the back of Drift’s hand that was glittery and read “55”. 

Drift pushed through the door and the music was so loud he winced a little. The area was packed, bodies moving together as they danced to the heavy beat. It was a sea of mechs, and Drift wondered how he’d find his client in here. 

Weaving his way into the crowd, lights bounced all around them and off the walls. He tried to spot the face from the file he read, but there had to be a hundred mechs crammed in here. 

The music suddenly quieted and everyone looked to the front stage. The music mixer waved his arms in the air. “Alright, Alright! Here we goooo! Next number I call get up on stage! Show us your moves! You ready? Number Five-Five! That’s fifty-five! Get up here!”

The nearby mechs noticed Drift’s number on his hand and before he knew it, bodies parted and he moved toward the front. Climbing up the stairs, he saw his client already up on the stage. 

Firestar was unusual for a lot of reasons; she was a femme to start. She also wasn’t from Cybertron. She came from a planet called Caminus settles by their kind millennia ago. The flame decoration on the top of her helm only added to her exotic looks. 

She stepped forward, grabbing Drift’s hand and spinning him before dipping him back. “Hello there, beautiful.”

Drift laughed, and smiled brightly as he set him back on his feet. 

“Show us your moves!” The music mixer said into the microphone. He then cranked the music. 

Dancing wasn’t something Drift had a lot of experience in but Firestar took the lead, and they spun and moved around on stage to the beat of the music. She then stepped out in front of him and busted out a series of impressive moves. Grabbing his hand, she spun him around several times, then pulled him in close, rocking their bodies together to the music. 

“Let’s hear it for 55!” The music mixer shouted. 

The crowd clapped and hollered in response. 

Firestar bowed, then dragged Drift off stage behind her. They pushed their way to the bar and she ordered a drink. “What do you want, my lovely date?” She asked Drift. 

“Regular grade, thanks,” Drift replied. 

“Aww. Nothing more fun?” She said with a pout. 

“Afraid not. Zetca requires me to stay sober,” Drift explained, taking the drink from the bartender. 

“I see, I see.” Firestar downed hers in a few gulps. “You up for dancing some more?”

Drift took a few sips of his drink. “I’m up for anything. But I’m supposed to recite the rules to you...”

Firestar huffed. “I heard Zetca had the best mechs, but by the Mistress’ Light he’s got so many rules!”

Drift had never heard that expression before. He was fascinated. 

“Plus, it’s loud in here. How about we do that part after we dance for a bit?” Firestar asked. 

Lifting up his drink, he drained the contents. After that, he set the empty glass on the counter and took her hand. “Dancing first it is.”

“Great!” She pushed back out into the dancing crowd and put her arm around Drift’s waist, dancing close. “This doesn’t break a rule, right?”

Drift chuckled. “Nope.”

“Can I touch you as much as I want?” She asked, a mischievous look in her optics. 

“Absolutely,” Drift confirmed. 

“You can do the same. That’s what’s fun about dancing. All the touching…” Firestar moved in time with the beat, undulating her body and pressing against Drift. 

Drift let himself indulge in running his hands over her smooth curves, fingers tracing the inset plating along her abdomen and chest. She was just as curious, her free hand pushing over Drift’s chest plate and down over his hip.

This was going to be an interesting evening. 

They danced for a good while, and eventually the crowd started to thin. She leaned in and kissed Drift’s audio before speaking into it. “You wanna get outta here? Have some more fun?”

Drift nodded. 

She grabbed his hand and then began to weave through the crowd toward the exit. Out on the street the cooler night air felt wonderful. It had been hot in the club with all those mechs crammed in together. 

“I have a room in a swanky hotel nearby.” Firestar seemed quite happy to hold Drift’s hand as they walked. “So, tell me these rules, so I can jump you the minute we’re in the room.”

Drift chuckled at that. “Okay, rule one: no harming me.”

“I plan on doing the opposite. I want to see what a  _ mech _ looks like overloading, especially a pretty one like you,” Firestar replied with a huge grin. 

His face heated at that. “Looking forward to it. Um, rule two: if either of us are uncomfortable, the date ends.”

“Gotcha. I hope I’m fun, though,” she replied. 

“You definitely are,” Drift affirmed. “And rule three: no kissing on the mouth.”

“Aww, that’s disappointing. Can I kiss you anywhere else?” Firestar asked with a playful glint in her optics.

“Of course,” Drift replied. 

“Oh! Here we are,” Firestar said before darting off toward a very high-end hotel. 

They entered the large beautiful lobby, though, Drift barely got much of a look before she caught a lift for them and they were on their way up to her room. She pulled Drift against her side, and danced with him to the bad music playing as they rode up. Drift laughed, swaying with her.

The doors opened and she pulled Drift off the lift by the hand to her room partway down the hallway. She waved her key card and they walked inside.

The room was very ornately decorated. Drift found himself distracted by the artwork on the walls and the fancy carved furniture. The center of the room had a circular berth with a mirror overhead. That’s when Drift realized this was a couple’s retreat hotel. The kind newly bonded mechs would come to strengthen their bond through interfacing and spark bonding. 

“Nice isn’t it? We don’t have anything like this back home.” Firestar hugged herself to Drift’s back, hands caressing his frame. “We also don’t have mechs back home.”

Drift glanced over his shoulder at her. “So what brings you to Cybertron, anyway?”

She rubbed his aft, clearly eager to get going. “Some of my friends are stationed here in Iacon for a mission, and invited me to come visit. I saw them earlier this week, but tonight is all about me.” She mouthed the back of his neck. “And  _ you _ .”

Smiling Drift nodded. “What would you like to do?”

“Spike you. A lot.” She playfully mouthed a helm fin. “Let’s start with… you on all fours in the middle of the berth.”

Drift pulled away from her, crawling onto the berth on all fours. He looked over his shoulder at her and shook his aft. “Ready when you are.”

Firestar got on the berth behind him, rubbing Drift’s aft and then between his legs. “You are so interesting looking. Strong lines, and beautiful thick intersecting sections of plating.” She scooted closer and pushed one hand up his spinal unit. “Open up for me?”

Drift obeyed, array cover opening. Her fingers deftly rubbed his platelets to warm him up. He heard her cover open, and was intensely curious what a femme’s array equipment looked like, but he couldn’t see in his current position. 

“You have a lot more platelets,”  Firestar commented before slipping two fingers into his valve. “Must add more pleasure.”

“It does feel nice to be touched,” Drift replied, voice thin with arousal. 

“Well, let’s see how you feel,” Firestar said, rubbing her spike against his valve. She moaned as she pressed it in. 

Drift’s optics dimmed with confusion. The spike felt different. It was thick and soft, not hard. 

“Oh, my Mistress…” Firestar said as she sank deep and held herself there for a moment. “The mesh is thin and so soft. Amazing.” She rubbed his aft with her hands, then slowly began to thrust. 

The soft, almost jelly-like sensation of her spike was unexpected, and Drift shivered at how it filled his valve with each thrust. She groaned, clearly enjoying this just as much. After her slow start, she picked up her pace, and Drift moaned with each deep penetration. It stretched his valve in all directions in the most incredible way. He lowered his upper body down into the pillows and blankets and shivered in response. 

“You are so pretty,” Firestar said, her voice thick with lust. “Let’s go faster,” She said, before thrusting deeper and harder with her soft spike. 

His valve throbbed with an all over sensation of pleasure, and Drift soon cried out, body shuddering with an overload that left him panting into the pillows.

She thrust through his overload, and groaned as she pulled harder on his hips to sheath herself to the hilt. She overloaded with a loud cry, followed by a moan of satisfaction as she flooded his valve with fluid. “Your valve is like a piece of velvet cloth.”

“Your spike is like nothing I’ve felt before,” Drift replied. 

She pulled out and flopped down next to him, gently pushing his aft so he’d lay down next to her. “My friends told me your spikes are different than ours. I wanted it to be a surprise for you.”

Drift laid on his side, propping his head up on his hand and looking at her spike. It had a thick layer wrapped around the shaft. “May I touch it?”

“Go ahead. I was hoping you’d do more than touch it, though.” Firestar grinned. 

“I’ll do anything you want,” Drift replied. He touched the thick layer, and saw how it was attached but moved around the shaft some. He wrapped his hand around it, squeezing it experimentally. 

“Now I want to see yours,” Firestar said, reaching over and trailing her fingers up his. “My friends said it was different, but I had no idea it was harder.” She squeezed his like he’d done to hers and it grew and got harder with her touches. “Interesting. You know, your valve is so soft. Femme’s don’t have valves like that. We have a stiffer mesh.”

“So our arrays are opposites, interesting.” Drift gently pet her spike and gazed at her flame hair adornment flickering. “What about your head flame?”

“It’s a look I had done when I was younger. It’s a cool flame, not real, basically. But I like how it looks,” Firestar explained. 

“It’s very striking,” Drift agreed. 

“I like your helm fins,” she replied, petting one. “They frame your face so well.” She leaned in, clearly intending to kiss him but stopped herself just shy of his lips. “I don’t like that no kissing rule.”

“Can kiss anywhere but my mouth, though?” Drift offered. 

She kissed under each of his optics, and then his nose. “Who knew mechs were so lovely?”

Drift chuckled at that. “What would you like to do next?”

Firestar rolled onto her back. “I want to watch you kiss my spike all over, if you know what I mean.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Drift moved, sitting beside her and bending down to kiss up the length of her unusual spike. He mouthed the head, then swirled his glossa around the end before slowly swallowing the soft spike whole. 

Firestar moaned and pet Drift’s helm and helm fins. “Your mouth is quite nice, too.”

Drift worked her spike with his mouth, enjoying the way it molded in his mouth. He could sweep his glossa around it easily and stimulate the sensory nodes. 

Firestar moaned and started to raise her hips in rhythm. She gazed at Drift with with a hazy, lustful expression, touching his helm and face as he pleasured her. Drift began to suck the head as he pulled part way off before swallowing again. She rolled her head back and moaned. “My Mistress, this mech is a gift!” She lifted her hips up, forcing her spike down his intake and overloaded again. 

Once she was done, Drift pulled off, and licked his lips, finding her taste completely different. He actually didn’t mind it. It was mellow and almost sweet. 

Firestar stretched her arms over her head and happily sighed. “Are all mechs as good at interfacing as you?”

“Well, this is my job. I get a lot of practice,” Drift replied. 

“Come here, lay with me,” Firestar said, patting the berth next to her. 

Drift laid down beside her and began to pet her soft-curved frame. She hummed with approval. He leaned over and mouthed the inset star shape in the middle of her chest, and she writhed in response. He continued to pet and mouth her lovely frame. 

“Getting me turned on again, hm?” Firestar asked. 

“You did say you wanted to spike me  _ a lot _ ,” Drift replied with a coy smile, reaching down and palming her spike. 

“I did, didn’t I?” Firestar grinned at him. “Roll over, and stick that cute aft out.”

Drift laughed, and did as she asked. She rubbed the platelets again with her fingertips first, then rubbed her spike against his valve opening. She then pistoned her hips, spreading him open again and filling his valve. He groaned in response. It was really too bad there weren’t more femmes on Cybertron, this felt so good. 

She hugged him to her body, and ‘faced him harder this time. Her thrusts were more insistent and her soft spike filled his valve so perfectly. Thick waves of pleasure pulsed within his array. His valve throbbed around the amazing sensation filling him. She mouthed the back of his neck and hugged him tightly. 

“So soft,” she whined. 

He groaned in reply. His valve squeezed her spike tightly and he overloaded once again with a sharp cry. Pleasure blossomed through his array and he shuddered in her hold. Firestar didn’t last much longer, pushing deep and overloading again, herself. She roared this time, and he felt her tremble against him as she flooded his valve.

They both laid there, panting quietly in the aftermath. 

Drift glanced up, seeing them in the mirror overhead, her body spooned against his. He wondered if Ratchet might like a place like this for their first time? A romantic setting? 

“Can I take you home with me?” Firestar teased, kissing the back of his helm. 

“I don’t think Zetca would approve,” Drift replied with a laugh. “Better take advantage of me while you have me, though.”

“Oh, I will. Don’t you worry, my pretty little mech,” Firestar replied with a low growl of desire to her voice as she pet his chest and abdomen and started to rock her hips again.

Drift shivered, valve rippling around her spike. He was going to be exhausted tomorrow, but it would be worth it.


	10. Getaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift discovers his body’s limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done! One more chapter to post after this. Enjoy!

“How has your week been?” Ratchet asked. 

Drift happily held Ratchet’s hand as they walked through the curated gardens of Trefoil just outside Iacon towers. 

“Interesting,” Drift replied, still unsure how much of his work life he should share. He’d avoided talking about it on their last real date.

“You can tell me, you know. About your job. I’ve told you about my days at work,” Ratchet said, gently squeezing Drift’s hand. 

“You don’t really want to hear about me interfacing with others, do you?” Drift asked, frowning. 

“How about we set some ground rules? Like, I don’t need to hear about the details, but maybe if something interesting happened, you can tell me? I want to get to know you. I can’t do that if you hide a huge part of your life,” Ratchet replied.

Drift hesitated a moment, but relented. “I had my two regulars this week. And then I had a third client who had me meet them at that club downtown. The one you need a special card to get into. I think it was called Prima Nominal,” Drift said, carefully gaging Ratchet’s reaction to throwing in the fact he had regulars. 

“I know that club. Treated mechs for overheating from being in there too long,” Ratchet replied. “I take it meeting at a club isn’t normal?”

“No, not at all. But nothing about that client was normal,” Drift replied with a half-smile.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Ratchet asked, shouldering Drift playfully. 

“My client was a femme from Caminus,” Drift revealed. 

Ratchet’s optics brightened. “Really? You know, when they made contact with Cybertron again an update to the medical library was sent out so medics would be prepared to treat a femme if they needed.” Ratchet leaned in closer to Drift as the strolled. “They have a lot of physical differences, including array equipment.”

Drift nodded. “I can confirm that.”

Ratchet looked fascinated. “Thing is, a mech might hurt a femme if they use their spike.”

“Oh, I didn’t do the spiking,” Drift replied, smiling a little, glad Ratchet wasn’t upset or disgusted. 

“They have a gel-filled layer around their spikes,” Ratchet commented. “What was it like?”

Drift stopped walking and looked up at Ratchet. “You really want to know? Isn’t that too much detail? I don’t want to make things uncomfortable between us.”

Ratchet cupped Drift’s face with one hand and leaned in, kissing his forehelm. “Are you going to stop seeing me and run off to Caminus with her?”

“Of course not,” Drift replied.

“Then I wanna know what it was like. I’m never going to experience one myself. And as a medic, I’m  _ really _ curious,” Ratchet replied.

Drift paused a moment. “Okay...Well it was weird. But also really nice at the same time. She kept saying my valve was soft and it basically molded itself to me.”

Ratchet looked intrigued. “Very interesting.”

“It really was an  _ interesting _ paid date,” Drift replied. He stood on his toes and kissed Ratchet. “Thank you.”

Ratchet smiled at Drift, and gently touched his cheek. “For what? Not that I mind being kissed.”

“For being okay about this,” Drift replied. 

“As long as you’re happy.” Ratchet frowned a little, though. “But I do worry about these regulars. Doesn’t that run the risk of attachment? Mechs can get pretty possessive. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Drift felt his spark flutter. Ratchet really did care about him. “One is a noble bonded to an old, dying mech. He’s likely going to die when his bonded does, so I see him every other week. The other is a government scientist, and he’s taking lessons with me, basically. He wants to find a mech to have a relationship with but he was a virgin when we met and wants to learn how to interface well. Neither one is going to hurt me, and I’m careful about emotional attachment.”

Tugging Drift close, Ratchet nuzzled his helm and kissed the crest. “Good. I’ll kick anyone’s aft that ever crosses the line.”

Drift melted into the embrace. Ratchet offered the affection he craved and so much more. While he’d been disappointed about the waiting to interface part, he now appreciated that they were taking time to emotionally bond. 

…

Checking he had his palm activated emergency communicator, Drift headed down into the red district. It was where the gentlemech club he’d worked at was located. Zetca had been reluctant about giving him this client and insisted on him taking precautions. 

Drift had been seeing up to ten mechs in a day before he started working for Zetca and they were more often than not rough. He wasn’t worried about the request he was going to fulfill. 

An exclusive interfacing club operated in the area for members only. He walked in and was greeted by a thin mech in all black. His purple optics sharply focused on Drift. 

“I’m here to see G—“

“Getaway. I know. He’s booked the black room.” The mech pointed down a hallway. 

Drift nodded and proceeded down the corridor. Each room had a different colored name; orange, red, midnight blue, etc. At the black room, he knocked.

The door opened and Drift entered a dimly lit room with black walls. All the furniture was black, too. Even the berth in the middle.

“Okay, I’m impressed. You’re as nice looking as your image.” Getaway said as Drift walked in. 

Drift smiled at him. This mech had a faceplate, which did make interacting a bit more complicated. He preferred being able to read faces. “Thank you.”

“Do your thing. The rules. I’m gonna get everything laid out.” Getaway stooped down and opened a container beside the berth. 

“Sure. Rule one: no harming me,” Drift began. Getaway didn’t answer like most clients did. After a moment, he continued. “Rule two: if either of us is uncomfortable the encounter ends.” 

Getaway laid out several long pieces of white cloth on the berth. 

“And third: no kissing on the mouth.” Drift didn’t like him not responding and waited. If this mech made him anymore uncomfortable, he was going to leave. 

Pulling several lengths of rope out, Getaway laid them next to the cloth pieces. Standing up, he put his hands on his hips and looked at Drift. “I won’t be hurting you. Just pushing your limits. Zetca said that was okay.” He canted his head. “Are you really okay with this? Including letting me image capture?”

Drift paused. “Cover my face, and no sharing the images. Zetca promised you wouldn’t.”

“I don’t share them. They’re for me... for  _ later _ ,” Getaway replied with nefarious tone to his voice.

“Then yes. I’m okay with this.” Drift walked over to the berth. “What position first?”

“On your front in the middle.” Getaway said, running a hand down Drift’s backside.

Drift obeyed, laying down on his front with his head to one side. 

Getaway circled the berth. “Perfect. The contrast is just right. Shimmering white on black.” He picked up a rope and sat beside Drift. “Just relax, it’ll make it easier for me.” 

Nodding, Drift let his frame go limp. Getaway set to work, lifting Drift’s frame when he needed to and weaving the rope around him in an intricate lattice of knots. Soon Drift’s upper body was bound in a beautiful network of tied rope that had immobilized his arms by tying them to his sides. Moving to his legs, Getaway tied his feet and ankles together, but left his hips and legs free. 

“Alright for the part that’s going to be a little uncomfortable. Ready?” Getaway asked. 

“Yes,” Drift replied. 

Getaway pulled on the end of the rope binding his feet together and wove it into loops he’d left along Drift’s back. He then pulled, forcing Drift to arch his back and stick his chest out. Getaway tied off the end, leaving Drift in the arched position. Stepping back, Getaway admired his work. 

“Does it hurt?” Getaway asked. 

“It’s not comfortable but it doesn’t hurt,” Drift replied. 

“Good. I’m going to cover your face, and then play with you like this.” Getaway picked up one of the white cloths and wrapped it around Drift’s face and head, tying it at the back. 

Drift was now blind to his client’s movements, so he turned up his audios. Getaway walked around behind him and started to pet between his legs. Hands moved up his inner thighs and then fingers rubbed his array cover. Drift didn’t need prompting, and opened before Getaway asked. 

“Why, thank you,” Getaway replied, immediately fingering Drift’s valve. “Most mechs spike you?” He asked, sliding two fingers into Drift and pumping them slowly in and out. 

“Usually, but not always,” Drift replied. 

“Do you perform orally a lot?” He asked, while using his thumb to rub the platelets while he pumped his fingers in and out.

“Pretty often, yeah,” Drift answered. His valve became slick and he was definitely feeling aroused despite the discomfort of being contorted and blindfolded. 

“Has anyone performed orally on you before?” Getaway asked. 

“So far, only one,” Drift replied. His voice wavered slightly as a charge began to build in his array. 

“Interesting. Do you enjoy your line of work?” He asked.

“I do.” Drift wondered why he was asking so many questions. 

“Your valve is modded, correct?” Getaway pumped his fingers faster. 

“Yes…” Drift said, before whining softly.

“Would you like to overload right now?” Getaway asked. 

“Yes!” Drift replied, on the verge and trembling.

Getaway removed his hand. 

Drift gasped at sudden stop. His fans kicked on and valve rippled with a charge ready to be released. 

“In addition to tying you up, I’m going to edge you.” Getaway got up and walked around to Drift’s face. He lifted the cloth to uncover Drift’s mouth, but kept his optics and nose covered. 

The head of a spike pressed against Drift’s lips, and he obeyed the unspoken command, opening wide. Getaway pressed his spike right in and groaned. He then started fragging Drift’s mouth. “You do have a nice mouth…”

Drift swirled his glossa around the spike, and Getaway groaned in response. His spike was hard and soon throbbing as it slid into Drift’s mouth and tapped his intake. 

Suddenly Getaway stepped back, which surprised Drift. The blindfold was definitely disorienting. 

He heard Getaway move to the other side of the berth and pull Drift to the edge. The head of Getaway’s spike pushed just inside Drift’s valve. 

“Do you enjoy being spiked?” Getaway asked. 

“I do, yes,” Drift replied. 

Getaway pushed forward, burying his spike with a satisfied sigh. “You’re valve is as nice as your mouth. Tell me, what do you enjoy about being spiked?”

“The feeling of being stretched, the way each spike feels different, the deep nodes being stimulated,” Drift replied. 

Thrusting sharply, Getaway moaned. “How many spike have you had?”

“I really don’t know,” Drift said, shivering.

“Make a guess. Hundreds? Thousands?” Getaway asked thrusting deep and hard. 

“Hundreds probably,” Drift replied. He couldn’t help moaning as the build up of pleasure began again. 

“Do prefer large spikes? Or ones that fit like mine? Modded ones?” Getaway asked. “Tell me what charges your array.”

Drift wasn’t sure if it was a trick question. “Yours is very nice,” he said, voice wavering. “My array is pulsing with pleasure right now.”

Getaway groaned. “You are  _ very _ good.” He squeezed Drift’s legs, using them to steady himself as he pushed deep. “Would you like to overload?”

Drift nodded, panting softly. “Yes… please…”

Getaway pulled out. He walked around to Drift’s front, and once again a spike pressed to Drift’s lips. He opened his mouth, and whimpered a little, his valve was hot and aching for an overload. 

“You were close, hm?” Getaway pet Drift’s helm. “Too bad for you.” He chuckled and began to frag Drift’s mouth again. This time with more force, his spike going part way down Drift’s intake. 

It lasted only a moment, though. Getaway soon stepped away again. 

Drift heard steps but didn’t know where Getaway was or what he was doing. He felt Getaway’s fingers untying the rope that was arching Drift’s body. Drift relaxed against the berth, his body aching from having been held in that position. “Roll onto your back.”

Drift obeyed. 

Getaway untied his ankles and pushed his right leg up flush to his chest and tied a strip of cloth around his thigh. He did the same to the left leg. “Keep relaxed, this will be easier.” 

Drift felt Getaway wrap another cloth strip twice around his throat. He then tied one end of the throat cloth to the one around his right thigh, then tied the other to his left thigh. 

Drift was unable to move now. If he did the cloth would tighten around his neck. His array was exposed with his legs held in position against his chest. He remained as relaxed as he could be, waiting for what was next. 

More footsteps. “You look so lovely against the black of the room.” Getaway touched the platelets of Drift’s valve rubbing them. “Has anyone mouthed your valve?”

“Very rarely,” Drift replied. 

A wet glossa swept up his valve entrance and then teased the platelets. 

Drift gasped at the sensation. Drift wished he could see, curious what this mech’s face looked like without the faceplate engaged.

“Would you like me to continue?” Getaway asked. 

“Please, yes,” Drift replied with a small whine. 

Getaway mouthed and suckled Drift’s valve. He dipped his glossa inside, but it was a tortuous sensation. Not enough to overload from, but enough to charge his array again. 

It didn’t last long, though. Getaway sat up again, and Drift whimpered in response. 

“So, you enjoy being spiked. You’ve had hundreds of spikes inside you. Probably thousands of overloads. You’ve chosen the perfect job.” Getaway chuckled. 

“I like to think so,” Drift replied. 

Getaway pulled Drift to the edge of the berth again. “Has anyone edged you before?” 

“Not while I was tied up,” Drift replied. 

A spike nudged just inside Drift’s valve. “Nice to know I’m a first. So, here we go. The finale. I’m gonna spike you but I don’t want you to overload until I say you can.” He pushed Drift’s legs apart, making the cloth around his neck tighten. “Does it hurt?”

“No—” Drift said, vocalizer choked by the cloth, making it cut out. 

“To your limits.” 

Getaway started to thrust at a decent pace. He occasionally pushed Drift’s legs apart to choke him when he started to moan or whimper. Each time Drift was near an overload, Getaway pulled out. 

This went on for several minutes. Drift could feel his systems straining from the constant denials and the charge in his array that couldn’t disperse with an overload. 

Drift knew this was about control. Getaway wanted to feel like he was in charge here, even if it was only an illusion. 

Drift decided to play into the game. He whimpered and when Getaway choked his vocalizer he continued to beg. “Pl-ease… May I—overload?” 

“Not quite yet.” Getaway thrust hard and deep, groaning.

“P-lease…” Drift repeated his plea, feeling the throb of Getaway‘s spike.

The pace suddenly increased. “ _ Yes _ , overload. Now!”

Drift let his head roll back and gasped as pleasure finally began to bloom inside his array. It was incredibly intense once it took hold and he cried out, only to have the sound cut off as Getaway choked him hard grabbing the cloth ends directly and yanking. 

Getaway roared as he also overloaded, pushing to the hilt and exploding with his release. 

The cloth went slack, and Drift felt Getaway withdraw. 

Drift cleared his vocalizer, but could tell he was going to be hoarse tomorrow. 

Fingers rubbed Drift’s valve platelets, causing him to whimper. His valve rippled in response and fluid escaped, dripping from his exposed valve. 

“Do you have any idea how picture perfect you look right now?” Getaway said. 

Drift wondered what was going on when he heard Getaway moaning. Suddenly he felt fluid splatter across his abdomen. Footsteps came around to his head. “Open your mouth.” 

Parting his lips, more fluid marked his face, partly landing in his mouth. 

“Gorgeous.” Getaway touched a helm fin. “I’d like to take image captures now. Mind staying like this for a few minutes?”

Drift shook his head. 

The sound of an image capture device charging and then snapping stills echoed in the room as Getaway walked around him in a circle. 

“You have to be one of my most lovely pieces, yet.” Getaway sounded practically giddy. “I’m going to enjoy these images later.” Drift heard the sound of Getaway putting his device in the container, followed by him sitting next to Drift on the berth. 

Getaway touched his valve again, causing Drift to gasp. “Sensitive?” 

Drift nodded. 

“It’s a shame I have to untie you. You look incredible.” Getaway sighed. Drift felt the cloth ties undone, and he lowered his legs. “Is your valve feeling hot?”

“Yes,” Drift replied, before licking his lips clean of fluid. 

“A lingering charge.” Getaway began to finger him. “One more overload then?”

Drift lifted his hips. “I’d like that. Please.”

Getaway fingered Drift, rubbing the platelets and sinking his fingers into his messy valve. It didn’t take more than a moment to overload again. Drift shuddered and groaned as pleasure overwhelmed his senses. 

Primus, he was tired. He laid there limp on the berth as he listened to Getaway walk around. 

“On your front,” Getaway said, helping Drift roll over.

Drift had gone limp as Getaway worked to remove his lattice work of ropes. When he was done, Getaway put his ropes away. Lastly, he slipped the cloth off Drift’s neck and untied the one covering his optics. 

Looking at Getaway, Drift realized he felt pretty hazy and out if it. 

“This was fun.” Getaway put a card with 600 credits next to Drift on the berth. “I enjoyed myself.”

“I’m glad,” Drift replied. 

“I’ll see you.” Getaway picked up his container and left the room, not at all concerned about leaving Drift covered in fluid and unable to move. 

He’d definitely been pushed to his limits and beyond. His throat ached and his array still had a lingering charge. After a few minutes, he managed to sit up. He used a corner of the blanket on the berth to wipe off some of the fluid splattered on his frame. 

After he felt like he was steady enough, Drift got up and staggered out of the black room. He did his best to walk normally as he exited the club. The thin black mech eyed him as he left. 

On the street, Drift knew he desperately needed energon and a medic to check his array which felt uncomfortable and burned now. He squeezed the communicator in his hand and waited for Zetca to come get him.

 


	11. Ratchet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift finds what he’d been looking for.

Zetca paced around the med-berth Drift was lying in. The nurses had given him three servings of medical-grade energon when he was admitted to the hospital, which helped perked him up some. 

Now he was worried about his array. It ached and burned, which he’d never experienced before, no matter how much interfacing he’d done. 

“I should’ve sent someone else,” Zetca murmured to himself. “You’re way too valuable to risk.”

Drift frowned. He was a commodity no matter how Zetca rationalized it.

The door to the room opened and they both looked over at the medic walking in. Drift froze in the berth when he saw who it was.

“Pleasure mech, right? Looks like I’ll need to examine your array,” Ratchet said, lowering the datapad and locking gazes with Drift. “Ah…”

“So check him,” Zetca said, clearly annoyed they’d been waiting so long. 

“I’m afraid I can’t. Um, let me get you another medic,” Ratchet replied, backing up a step. 

Drift was mortified. 

“Another medic? You realize he’s been lying here in pain for over two hours!” Zetca yelled.

Ratchet broke his locked gaze on Drift to glance at Zetca. “Don’t worry. I’ll have another medic in here, ten minutes tops,” he said to Zetca. He sadly frowned at Drift, then exited the room. 

Tears glossed over Drift’s optics. The way Ratchet practically sprinted out of the room... His spark started to ache, hurting much more than his array. Why had Ratchet runoff? Was he disgusted? Did he finally see Drift as the guttermech he truly was? Only able to offer his body, even if that’s what he was good at?

He was an idiot for thinking he could date and be a pleasure mech. With extra stupid points for trying to date someone he really liked. 

“Hey, it’s okay. If there isn’t another medic here in ten minutes, I’ll literally drag one in here by his helm crest,” Zetca said, sitting beside Drift in the berth and petting his arm. 

“Thanks,” Drift replied, tears escaping. Zetca had no clue. It was better that way, though.

…

Drift dimly lit his optics. He woke in his berth, but didn’t bother moving. Zetca gave him the next two days off to recover. His array wasn’t in pain anymore, but he was sore from the repair. A different medic had done the repairs and said the damage to his throat would heal itself. 

He would be fine physically in a couple days. Emotionally was a whole other story. 

He felt truly stupid. Why had he thought he could have it all? Life wasn’t like that for him. It had always been hard and rarely worked out. Being with Ratchet had been too good to be true. 

Not feeling up to doing anything, he rolled over and started to doze off again. 

The buzzer for his apartment startled him awake. 

Reluctantly sitting up, he wondered if it was Zetca, checking on his precious agent. Drift was aware everything in life came down to credits. He must be making Zetca a lot for him to be this attentive.

Drift pressed the door control. He was about to tell Zetca to leave before he noticed who was actually at the door. He stood there dumbfounded and staring up.

“Hey.” Ratchet was in his apartment hallway with a bag in one hand. “I hope it’s okay. Stopping by. I saw you were discharged.”

“Been home for a few hours,” Drift replied. 

Ratchet frowned. “Um, can I come in?”

Drift felt a thick sadness roll through him, spark hurting in response. Here it comes. The end. He stepped aside. “Yeah.” 

Walking in, Ratchet looked around. “Never been inside before. A studio apartment, hm?”

“I know it’s small and not as nice as yours, but my neighborhood is safer,” Drift replied with a shrug. 

“My neighborhood isn’t the best, you’re not wrong,” Ratchet replied with a chuckle. He looked at Drift and set the bag on the table next to the door. “How are you feeling?”

Scowling, Drift looked up at him. “Don’t bother asking. Just do what you came here to do,” he said in a flat, defeated tone. 

“What are you talking about?” Ratchet asked, looking confused. 

“I saw the way you looked at me in the hospital before bolting out of the room.” Drift folded his arms across his chest. “Break up with me. Get it over with.”

Ratchet sadly frowned. “That’s not why I’m here.”

Drift scowled at Ratchet. “It was only a matter of time before you dumped me. Clearly seeing me at the hospital like that was over the line. I mean, who wants to date a former junkie guttermech who now frags for a living?”

Heaving a sigh, Ratchet shook his head at Drift. “That’s not— _ Look _ , I left the room at the hospital because I’m not supposed to treat patients I have a personal relationship with.” Ratchet frowned. “Plus, I figured that mech was your boss, and I doubt he knows you’re dating anyone. I didn’t want to get you in trouble.”

Drift’s expression softened. “Then… you stopped by to check on me?”

“ _ Yeah _ ,” Ratchet replied. “I don’t know how to get you understand I don’t care that you were on the streets. I’m also really proud that you’re clean, and working hard to make a life for yourself. It doesn’t bother me that it’s through interfacing as long as you are okay with it.”

Lowering his arms, Drift frowned. “Wow, I’m an aft.”

“Hey, everyone is an aft now and again,” Ratchet replied, play punching Drift’s shoulder. “How about this? We pretend I just walked in and start over?” Ratchet lifted the bag and set it down again to pretend he’d just come in again. “Hey, I stopped by to make sure you were okay. How are you feeling?”

Drift pouted slightly. “I’m sorry—”

“No, we’re pretending I just came in,” Ratchet interrupted. He stepped closer and put his hand on Drift’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

Drift gazed up into aged, blue optics. He didn’t deserve the patience or love he was being treated with, but he desperately craved it. “My array is sore, but I’m supposed be to okay in a couple days.”

Ratchet kissed his helm crest. “And your throat? I kinda read your file…”

“Of course you did,” Drift replied, sliding both arms around Ratchet’s middle and hugging him. “It still hurts a little.”

Wrapping his larger arms around Drift, he hugged him back. “A burned out regulator and sensory node replacements. I can understand why you’d be sore.”

“That medic scolded Zetca. I’m not allowed to take clients that do that anymore,” Drift replied. 

“Do what?” Ratchet asked. 

“Is that too much information?” Drift asked, wanting to be sure.

“Nah, I wanna know. Just in case there is an aft-kicking I need to go do,” Ratchet replied. 

Drift smiled at that. “He was edging me for a long time. You know, almost overloading but stopping right before?”

“I know what that is,” Ratchet replied, then he kissed the top of Drift’s helm. 

“Apparently my array is really sensitive. I can do that a little, but not like he did. It went on too long.” Drift sighed. “So, I’m not allowed to do it at all anymore with clients.”

“Zetca’s orders?” Ratchet asked. 

“Yup.” Drift loosened his grasp and gazed up at Ratchet. “I really am sorry. I’ve never dated someone seriously before.”

Ratchet cupped his face with one hand and then leaned down to kiss him sweetly. “I just hope you’ll start to trust me.”

“I do,” Drift replied. 

They hugged again, and Drift looked at the bag as Ratchet squeezed him close. “What did you bring with you?”

Letting go, Ratchet smiled and went over to the bag. “Things to help you feel better.” He pulled out a box of high-end energon goodies. Like the ones he’d had with Wing at that cafe. “These are my favorite treats. Always a good pick me up.”

Drift happily took the box and poked the pretty wrapping on the box.

“I also brought--” Ratchet pulled a bottle of wax and a microfiber cloth out of the bag. “These. I noticed you had dull lines all over you at the hospital and thought it might be nice to be pampered. I’m not a parlor mech, but I do a decent job.”

Drift looked down at his chest. He hadn’t even noticed that the lattice of ropes had rubbed off his wax. He frowned and fingered his plating. “I look like slag.”

“You’re still gorgeous, don’t be silly.” Ratchet smiled brightly. “This may also be an excuse to get to touch you all over.”

Drift laughed. “You don’t need an excuse, you know. You’re the one making  _ me _ wait, remember?”

“Exactly. I need an excuse to end the waiting,” Ratchet replied with a coy smile. “But, if you’re sore, probably not tonight.”

Softly sighing, Drift nodded. “Probably not. But I’m up for being pampered.”

Ratchet stole another kiss. “Then get your pretty self over to the washrack and I’ll proceed with groping you.”

Laughing, Drift play shoved Ratchet’s shoulder. “Alright.” He set the goodies on his berth, and he went into his washrack with Ratchet following close behind. 

…

Drift woke curled up against Ratchet. He smiled at how Ratchet was sprawled out on his berth, still recharging. He looked so cute. 

The waxing the evening before had been really nice and relaxing. He’d almost dozed off in the washrack and Ratchet had carried him in here when he finished. That was the last clear memory he had from the night before. He was really happy Ratchet decided to stay with him. 

Petting Ratchet’s chest, Drift found himself enjoying the quiet of this moment. Being together and knowing they cared deeply for each other filled him with so much happiness he thought he might burst. 

A hand pressed over his. 

Looking up, Drift smiled at a sleepy-faced Ratchet gazing at him. 

“This is one nice berth,” Ratchet commented. 

“I got the nicest one they had. After recharging in alleys, I wanted something really fancy,” Drift admitted. 

“It’s probably the most comfortable berth I’ve ever recharged in,” Ratchet replied with a satisfied look on his face. 

Drift moved to drape himself partway over Ratchet and kiss him. “You know, this berth hasn’t been properly broken in.”

“It hasn’t, hm?” Ratchet replied, running a hand down Drift’s back slowly. 

“You’d be doing me a huge favor if you helped me out with that,” Drift replied, leaning in and mouthing Ratchet’s throat. 

“That does depend on whether or not you’re still sore. You did pass out pretty early last night and your plating was hot from self-repair sequences running,” Ratchet replied while cupping Drift’s aft. 

“Am I warm now?” Drift asked, kissing along Ratchet’s shoulder. 

“You feel within normal ranges,” Ratchet replied. 

“I’m not sore. I feel pretty good, actually. Well, except for one thing,” Drift said.

“One thing? Your throat?” Ratchet asked, genuinely concerned. 

Drift lifted his head and grinned at his looked into Ratchet’s optics. “My throat is fine. My valve on the other hand really needs attention.” He let the cover open, and writhed against Ratchet. “I needs a medic’s touch, I think.”

Ratchet laughed. “Well, good thing I’m here.” He pressed his fingers between Drift’s legs from behind and rubbed the platelets with his fingers. “How’s that?”

Drift hummed. “Nice…”

With a mischievous look, Ratchet started to send little electric pulses from his fingertips as he rubbed. “And how about now?”

Drift whined in response. “That’s… wow…”

“Never been with a medic?” Ratchet asked.

“I haven’t… no. Your friend would’ve—“ Drift cut himself short whimpering softly at how good it felt. 

“You really  _ are _ sensitive,” Ratchet commented. He slipped two fingers into Drift’s valve, still sending pulses as he pet the mesh lining. 

Drift curled up on Ratchet’s chest, optics dark as he moaned. The pulses and touches had rendered him unable to speak. 

“Are you going to overload from this?” Ratchet asked after a moment. 

Drift simply nodded.

Ratchet smiled and then pumped his fingers in and out a few times, sending those little pulses the entire time. Drift suddenly stiffened and gasped as his valve tightened around those fingers and he overloaded. Pleasure bloomed through his array for a lovely moment before passing. 

Drift sighed happily, smiling at Ratchet.

“You’re gorgeous,” Ratchet commented. 

Drift was constantly complimented on his looks by clients, but it meant very little to him. Ratchet calling him ‘gorgeous’, on the other hand, made his spark fluttery and happy. Maybe because it wasn’t just a comment about his outer appearance? 

“I can overload a lot,” Drift said, reaching down to pet Ratchet’s closed cover. “I hope I’ll get more than just a preview.”

Ratchet smiled, letting his cover open. “Fair warning, I’m an old mech. So be gentle.”

Drift shifted off Ratchet’s chest and lay beside him, eager to see what kind of spike he had. It was larger, and had the thick ridges older mech’s spikes seemed to often have. It was going to feel amazing… Grasping it, he squeezed and pumped it slowly. 

Ratchet groaned, watching Drift’s hand. “Suppose there are things we should discuss…”

“Oh?” Drift asked, not stopping. “Let me guess, you always spike.”

Ratchet looked at Drift. “Usually. How’d you know I was gonna—?” 

“With clients, I let them do whatever they want. You’re  _ not _ a client. And I don’t mind being spiked, but know that I expect this to be a fair relationship and I want to spike you, too,” Drift interrupted, continuing to massage Ratchet’s spike.

“You’ve given this thought,” Ratchet huffed, followed by a moan. “Primus…”

“I have. Waiting gave me time to really think about everything,” Drift replied. He then moved, straddling Ratchet’s hips and sinking his valve down over the wonderful ridges of Ratchet’s spike with a whimper. 

“Sure you aren’t sore?” Ratchet asked, voice heavy with desire as he placed his hands on Drift’s hips. 

“Just have an ache in my valve that being ‘faced senseless should take care of,” Drift replied with a grin. 

Ratchet chuckled as he let his fingers trace over Drift’s modded spike for a moment. “You have a beautiful spike mod,” he said. 

“I promise it feels amazing,” Drift replied. “But this—“ He placed his hands on Ratchet’s broad chest and gyrated his hips with his spike buried in his valve. “Is what I want right now.”

Ratchet moaned in response, both hands grasping at Drift’s hips again. “I’m good with this…”

Drift began to roll his hips, rising and falling over Ratchet’s incredible spike. It felt so nice; thick and ridged, spreading his valve lining open and stimulating hidden sensory nodes. Drift groaned, pleasure building within his array. 

Large, strong hands explored Drift’s frame as he rode Ratchet’s spike. Zaps of electrical charges from his fingertips added a layer of stimulation Drift wasn’t used to, turning his moans into whimpers of pleasure. 

“So beautiful,” Ratchet commented, his voice straining to not moan as spoke. “Will you overload so I can see?” 

Drift nodded, increasing his pace. He was soon sinking to hilt over Ratchet’s amazing spike and shivering from medic fingers sending pulses all over his frame. He suddenly slammed his hips down, and cried out as a deep, intense overload hit him hard. The pleasure was overwhelming as he let it move through his array and affect his entire frame, leaving him moaning and shuddering. 

As it passed, he felt the throb of Ratchet’s spike buried inside him. He panted softly, and refocused his optics on Ratchet. “You aren’t done.”

“Not yet. That was incredible to watch…” Ratchet sat up, Drift still impaled on his spike. “One more overload. Together this time.” 

Drift smiled. “Together.”

Ratchet flipped them so Drift was lying in the soft, plush berth with him overtop. He kissed Drift and slowly began to thrust. 

Moaning into the kiss, Drift shivered. The intimacy of kissing while interfacing made his array heat up again and spark flutter. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear he was drunk, his processor swimming in heady pleasure. 

They traded kisses while Ratchet thrust deep and slow. Drift had never interfaced like this. The end goal was usually what his clients wanted; what Hot Rod had wanted. This was different. The journey to get to that moment of release seemed just as important. Maybe more so.

After several minutes of truly intimate interfacing, Ratchet’s thrusts became more insistent and faster. Drift moaned, his valve fluttering around the thick spike on the verge of overload. He did his best to hold on as long as he could, but it became too much, and his whole body arched as he gasped and cried loud, overload claiming him once again. 

Ratchet thrust through his overload, then held himself buried deep as he groaned loudly, joining Drift in a moment of pure pleasure and release, flooding Drift’s valve. 

As the intense shared moment of overloading passed, Ratchet laid over top of Drift, panting to cool his systems. Drift also softly painted as he smiled at how satisfied and happy Ratchet looked. 

“Worth the wait,” Drift said, gently running his fingers over Ratchet’s shoulder. 

“Definitely,” Ratchet replied with a grin. “Looking forward to letting you spike next. But these old joints need a minute or so.”

“You don’t have work today?” Drift asked, unable to hide the hope in his voice.

Ratchet shifted, pushing himself up and leaning in to kiss Drift. “My job for today is stick around here and make sure you’re doing okay,” he said, lingering close. 

Drift cupped his face with both hands and kissed him back. “I definitely need a whole day of your unique medical care.”

Chuckling, Ratchet touched their noses. “Consider me your personal physician for the day, then.” 

They kissed again, lips parting to entwine their glossae. Drift was in love, and could hardly believe he’d found someone who accepted him just as he was. 

As the kiss broke, he gazed into Ratchet’s lovely, aged optics. “Thank you.”

Ratchet looked flustered. “For what? Finally ‘facing you silly?”

“Deflect all you want,” Drift replied. “You know why I’m thanking you.”

Ratchet kissed Drift’s forehelm. “I know, kid. And this old mech thanks you, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! ^__^


End file.
